


Far Over the Misty Mountains

by lembaslicious



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gen, Mirkwood, Mystery, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Rivendell, Suspense, Young Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 143,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lembaslicious/pseuds/lembaslicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of elves, with a young Legolas among them, are sent out from Greenwood to Rivendell on an important mission. War is brewing and treachery is near at hand. The journey is long and perilous. The courage of the travellers will be put to a test, and Legolas will learn that when the wise and mighty are unwilling to take up the fight, others must take it up instead - even though they may not think they are strong or brave enough.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An unexpected visitor

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write wood-elves because I love wood-elves, and I have a very specific picture of them. That was the original idea. Then plot happened, and mystery, and the War of the Ring, and family drama and adventure and lots and lots of characters demanding their own agendas... this is the result.  
> There is some violence (some against children) later on, most of it happening off screen, some will be on screen. There's also a bit of gore and mentions of death. I don't think any of it is very graphic but if you're sensitive, tread carefully :)

Legolas woke by the storm.

He lay under the bear fur, curled up on the side like a badger in its den, and listened to the rain rattling on window and the shutters tearing at their latches. A howling wind shook the Mountain. The bear fur was damp - nothing is ever dry in a stone palace in autumn - and everything smelled of rain and earth and wet wood. The embers spread their dying light over the hearth rug.

This will be the last of the autumn storms, mother had said that evening, when the clouds began to gather over the forest. The next will mark the start of winter.

Legolas was too old to be afraid of storms, but he wished she had been closer.

He nestled down deeper under the bear fur and pretended he was an adventurer on the way to someplace exciting - no, he was hunted, and wounded, and his pursuers were approaching. Legolas shut his eyes and lay very still, breathing shallowly, listening for...

Footsteps.

He opened his eyes again.

Two people were walking in the tunnel outside his bedroom. One of them was Galion, easily recognizable - Legolas had known the hurried and somewhat grumpy falls of Galion’s feet since he was very very small - but the other one he could not place. It was not the foot-steps of an elf, and since it could not be a dwarf in the Mountain it must be a Man - but what was a Man doing in the royal chambers, in the middle of the night, and why did not Galion tell it to wait till the morning?

”The King and Queen will be asleep, my lord, but if you wait here I will..."

”We are awake, Galion, thank you. The Queen will be down in a moment."

It was father’s voice, soft and kingly as always, coming from the parlour with the hearth and the armchairs. Legolas sat up.

Strange things had been happening in Greenwood this past year, though everyone had refused to tell Legolas anything about it. Mother and father had recieved many messages sealed with strange sigils, and they had sent some of their own on swift-winged birds that would not tell anyone where they flew. There was Tuiw, never returning from Rivendell, and Laeros, who did return at last from the south, but not in the way anyone had hoped. Even Tinuhen had not been told all secrets, though he was too angry about it to admit it.

Legolas wondered if this unexpected visitor had something to do with all this. Something about the secretive way they spoke told him that it might.

”My dear friend”, father said now and sounded happier than usual. ”What a weather to journey in! Galion, will you light the fire - are you tired?”

”Tired of trees”, another voice replied, and Legolas’ eyes widened with surprise. Gandalf! Gandalf with his hat and his staff and his stories and his fireworks (the wood-elves only like the quiet ones, but he always had plenty of them too).

”Of trees?” father asked.

”Yes”, Gandalf said, ”of trees - and elves laughing in them! Why do they not come down when I ask? Every time I found myself lost I heard them laughing, but they would not come down and tell me where I was.”

”But they are wood-elves, Mithrandir, what did you expect? Now sit down, let me take your staff. Do you want wine? It’s from the south somewhere, not elven standard of course - to think Dorwinion would get so hard to come by...”

Their voices died to a low murmur. Legolas heard the door to his parent’s bedroom open and close on top of the stair, and mother greeting Gandalf warmly, but then he could no longer discern any words. The silence, broken only by the wind, felt secret and a bit dangerous - like a book you are not supposed to open, or a story you are too young to hear.

Legolas shifted beneath the bear fur and set his bare feet on the cold stone floor. As quiet as only a wood-elf can move he crossed the room and pulled the heavy oak-wood door open. Now he could hear their voices again.

”...what do you mean plenty of time?” Gandalf was saying. ”There is hardly any time at all - I told Tuiw to say...”

”Tuiw never returned from Rivendell”, mother said softly. ”Whatever message you sent with him never reached us.”

”Indeed? That explains many things. I sent a very important message with the boy. The council...”

Thunder crashed and drowned his last words. Legolas pushed the bedroom door closed behind him, easing it slowly past the place where it creaked; then he crept down the darkened hallway to the light of fire at the end of it. There was no light behind Tinuhen’s door, and behind Merilin’s all was quiet. When he saw his father’s hair glowing pale in the fire-light, and Gandalf’s hat drooping with rainwaiter sticking up above the back of an armchair, and mother leaning to the mantel in her nightgown, Legolas crouched down in the shadows to listen.

”So you have, after all, decided not to follow my counsel?” came Gandalf’s voice. ”A fine pair of stubborn fools you are! Lord Elrond...”

”Elrond!” father snorted. ”What does he know of forests? What does he care?”

”He knows and cares more than you want to admit. And if not about forests, then about healing. It is just possible he could do something for Laeros...”

”He could do nothing for lady Celebrían.”

Gandalf stood up with a frustrated growl and began to pace to and fro in front of the fire. Legolas wondered what lady Celebrían had in common with Laeros. The news that she was captured had come to Greenwood a year and a half ago, and then they had heard that she was freed but sick, and then finally that she had sailed - but Legolas had never understood exactly why. About Laeros he knew very little. Hardly anyone had seen him since he returned from the south, the only one of the seven scouts that had been sent out that spring.

”If Laeros was healed”, Gandalf said suddenly, jerking Legolas from his thoughts, ”then perhaps he could tell us what he found in the south. The others would not have died in vain, nor would Laeros have gone through so much pain and suffering for naught. Laeros is not lady Celebrían, and before we have tried all we can to heal him...”

Now mother spoke, and she sounded almost angry. ”So you want us to send Laeros to Rivendell, away from the forest he nearly died to protect? All that pain and suffering only to be sent away like a - like a lunatic we cannot take care of ourselves - ”

”But if he could save that forest? If he could be healed?”

Mother turned her back on him and folded her arms across her chest.

Another lightning lit the room in harsch black and white, but the thunder was more distant this time. The wind no longer howled so loudly in the chimney, and the rain did not drum as heavily on the windows. The storm would be over come morning.

Galion returned to ask if anyone wanted something.

”Find a draught of Reason for your king and queen”, said Gandalf half seriously. ”Or maybe an antidote for stubbornness.”

”And a whet stone for Mithrandir”, mother said. ”His tongue is not as sharp as it once was.”

”Bashing a sword against a shield has a tendency of making it blunt, my dear Queen. My tongue has been battling your thick-headedness for far too long."

”Then keep quiet", mother said.

”I will leave you to your negotiations", Galion said with a certain edge to his words. There was a long silence after he left.

Then father sighed. ”If I believed lord Elrond could heal Laeros I would send him to Rivendell - but I doubt anything can be done. He is too far gone. For his sake, perhaps it would be better if he never had to remember what he has seen. For the rest of us... you know what I think.”

”I do, old friend”, Gandalf said with sudden pity in his voice. ”But I do not believe you. Saruman...”

”Saruman! Saruman is wise, but he has not seen what I have seen, he would not know...”

Father trailed off. The silence that fell was so heavy the fire-light seemed diminished.

Legolas didn’t want to hear anything more. He knew what they were talking about, even though they never said it out loud. He had heard enough of rumours and whispers this fall to know what was always on the grown elves’ minds. But the wind had stilled and it was too quiet for him to sneak back to his room.

”I am afraid, Mithrandir”, father said slowly. He turned his head and the fire-light fell on his face, and suddenly he did look afraid - old and scared and sad, like one who has seen too many winters and too few summers. ”I fear for Greenwood. I fear for my people. I fear for Middle Earth - you know why. And though it shames me, I fear for myself."

”There is not shame in fear, Thranduil, as long as you do not cower from it.”

”But I do cower, and I will keep cowering for as long as reason tells me to do it. You see, I - we have not the strength or the numbers to fight. All we can do is draw back in safety here and endure. And endure we will. That is my plan, Mithrandir. To lock the doors and bar the windows until the storm is over. And in that plan there is no place for your secret councils.”

”Does the Queen agree with this plan?” Gandalf asked, looking at mother.

Mother shifted uncomfortably. She was not one who endured; she was one who fought. But now she nodded. ”For the time being.”

There was a last blast of wind trembling in the windows, and they all looked out as if expecting the Mountain to fall. In the wind, Legolas imagined he felt something more - a being that watching them from the darkness. He knew what it was. It was here in the room too; in the flickers of fire-light on the walls, in every word the adults spoke and in every secret they did not say aloud.

It was the Shadow, the sickness that spread over Greenwood, the darkness that came from the south. Since summer ended the rumours had been going - faint at first, later growing - that the Shadow was spreading again, that it was nearing the Forest Road. Legolas had felt it. He had felt it in the earth, heard it in the haunted voices the wind brought from the border-trees. He did not want to hear more. He wanted to pretend the Shadow was not there. Very slowly he began to creep back to his room.

”And what about the elves by the Forest Road?” Gandalf asked. ”I talked to a few of them on my way here, though they were very shy. What will they do, while you endure in here?”

”They will do what they chose to do”, father said. ”They chose to stay on the border of the Shadow, and we cannot persuade them to - ” He cut himself off. Legolas could no longer see him, but he heard the deep sigh of exasperation.

”Legolas! Is that you?”

Like a deer startled by a snapped twig, Legolas froze. How could father _always_ know he was there?

”Come here. You need not hide anymore.”

Legolas stumbled to his feet. He considered staying where he was and being so quiet they would eventually think they had imagined it, but mother was not that easily fooled. Wrapping his arms around him, Legolas walked to the edge of the fire-light and stood there, hesitating. Mother and father and Gandalf were all looking at him.

Before anyone could say anything, Gandalf began to laugh.

”Legolas, my dear boy! Have your mother taught you nothing about eavesdropping?”

”She has, but I need to practise more.” Seeing as the wizard was not angry, Legolas beamed at him. ”Gandalf, I’ve missed you! Where have you been all this time?”

”Practise?” father asked and turned to mother. She laughed and shook her head.

”Ive been to the moon and back and everywhere in between”, Gandalf said - a typical wizard-answer. ”I will tell you the interesting parts, but not now. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

”I was”, Legolas said, ”but the storm woke me.” He bit his lip. ”You’re not angry, are you?”

”Of course not! That storm would have woken a dragon. Come here, let me look at you. I believe you have grown!”

Legolas grinned and left the hallway so he could hug the wizard. Mother did not look angry either, but with father it was hard to tell, because he rarely showed what he thought. He stood beside mother with his hands clasped behind his back and did not seem to know what to say.

”And you look strong”, Gandalf said, letting Legolas go so he could look at him. ”Have you been training - on other things than eavesdropping?”

Legolas nodded eagerly. ”I’m training with the archers.”

”Indeed?”

”I can show you if you want!”

”I’d love to, my child”, Gandalf said. ”But tomorrow. The storm is going away, and an elf your age needs sleep to grow.”

”And you have important things to talk about.”

”And we have important things to talk about”, Gandalf agreed. ”There’s no fooling you.”

Legolas shook his head.

”But there’s not more fooling us either”, mother said, ”and this time you won’t eavesdrop, promise?”

Legolas supposed he would never know more about Tuiw or Laeros or mysterious councils, but he was not sure he wanted to either. ”I promise.”

”Sleep well", Gandalf said. Father smiled but said nothing - but then he rarely did.

Back in his room, Legolas climbed onto the bed but he did not lay down to sleep. He sat under the bear fur and looked at the moon and stars that Tinuhen had painted on the window shutters - long ago, when Legolas was little and Tinuhen still nice to him - and he felt as if he had stumbled into a story that was many times bigger than he was.

He wondered if the story was going to go on without him, or if there was a chance he might be a part of it. He was not sure he wanted to be part of it. If the Shadow was in it, it must be a scary story, and Legolas was not very brave.

Eventually he did fall asleep, and he had a very strange dream. First there was father’s silver crown, but it was dented and black with soot, and the hands lifting it up from the snowy ground were too small to be father’s. Then he dreamt of a cave, a very dark cave, but he could see the opening - and just inside it someone lay huddling under a cloak, but Legolas could not tell who it was.

Last he dreamt of a door at the end of a dark hallway. Light fell on the treshold, and he could see people moving behind it, but their faces were unclear. Legolas had a strange feeling he had come too far; but from what or to what, he could not tell.

When he woke on the morrow, he had all but forgotten the dream.


	2. The kingdom at the heart of the forest

When Legolas woke on the morrow, the storm was over.

He slipped out from under the bear fur and pushed open the painted shutters. A grey, dripping dawn was growing out of the dark; a faint wind pulled at the remnants of storm clouds, and Greenwood greeted the morning, shaking leaves and stretching roots and branches. Foxes and badgers crawled out their dens, does and stags shook water from their fur and the owls returned to their trees. It would be some time still before the sun was up, and the Mountain would be asleep a while longer.

Legolas dressed hastily in loose deerskin trousers and a woollen tunic, tucked a dagger in his belt, but did not bother to take any shoes; they’d only get wet. He left the room quietly. The hallway was dark, but from the parlour came a faint light. Father sat in the chair by the window with his arms folded on the desk, and his head resting on his arms. The candle beside him had almost burnt down.

Legolas hesitated.

It was not the first time father fell asleep like that. He often worked until far into the night, or went up early because he could not sleep. Sometimes he stood by the southern window and looked out with his hands clasped behind his back, and it was not Greenwood he saw; it could not be, for it did not make him happy.

Sometimes Legolas wondered if he should hug him. They were all sad, but it seemed to him that no one ever comforted the Elvenking.

But he had never dared to yet, and he did not dare to this time either.

The halls of the wood-elves deep in the mountain were still asleep, dark and quiet and very still. At some places there were arrow-slits where dawn peered in; at others Legolas had to feel his way with a hand to the wall. He pretended he was an adventurer, looking for treasures deep in a cave. He kept on hand on the belt knife (it was a sword) and thought of how he would fight the dragon, when he found it. The dragon could be anywhere. Once he heard the clicking of claws against the stone floor and quickly hid in a crossing tunnel, thinking for a second it truly was a dragon, but it was only Merilin’s fox returning from a nightly hunt in the cellars.

”Good morning to you”, Legolas whispered and reached down to scratch the fox beneath the furry chin. ”I see you’ve had luck tonight.”

The fox smiled contently and nuzzled his hand with the dead rat dangling from her gap. Even with her blind left eye she was an excellent rat hunter, as swift and precise as Merilin herself. It was Merilin who found her injured and took her in, and now the fox followed her like a lapdog.

They went their own way, fox and elf. Legolas went quietly down the narrow stair and through the broad tunnel with its painted roof that led to the Hall of Trees.

Even here there was no one. In the evenings, and far into the night, the Hall of Trees was full of elves, sitting on the long rough-hewn oak benches around the center hearth, talking and laughing and telling stories. Now that autumn was here the elves that lived in the forest came to the palace for shelter (expect those living by the Forest Road; they refused to move) and the Hall of Trees was the place to catch up with old friends. The elves sat their fletching arrows and greasing boots while they shared stories about the days’ hunt or battles of old. But now there was only the dogs sleeping on the straw, and a cat half awake on the still warm hearth-stones, watching with one eye a sparrow picking for bread crumbs between the rough boards of the table. Legolas looked up as he walked between the broad pillars, all shaped into trees, but it was too dark too make out the mighty stone branches that held up the roof above his head.

He pushed the heavy oak wood doors open and light fell on the doorstep. In came dawn, cold-fingered and frost-haired, pulling at his clothes; and Legolas laughed and leapt down the steps to the courtyard, jumping over the puddle at their feet without thinking - the courtyard sloped down to that point, and the puddle had been there since the end of september. The wind caught his hair and made leaves whirl down the mountainside.

While the doors to the Hall of Trees were closed to ward off cold winds, the magic stone doors in the cliff that surrounded the courtyard, the very entrance to the wood-elves’ halls, were always open. The bridge guards greeted him merrily as he walked between them, beneath the intimidating arch of the Doors.

”I should’ve known it was you I heard laughing”, Hethulin said and leaned casually on her spear. ”My prince is up early.”

”I was awake”, Legolas said, ”so why should I stay inside?”

She smiled. ”True enough.”

Legolas climbed down the steep bank at the side of the bridge, knelt on a slanting rock by the water and cupped his hands to drink. It was so cold it hurt to swallow, and he made a face and shuddered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he laughed a little and looked up at Greenwood, dark and full of shadows in the twilight. Upstreams the water-wheel creaked and splashed in the stillness.

Hethulin lent him a hand when he climbed back onto the bridge again.

”Well”, she said, ”you’re not escaping any lessons, are you? I won’t lie to your brother again, if he asks.”

”I’m not”, Legolas said, not bothering to try to remember if he was.

”Good. And Legolas...” Hethulin laid a hand on his arm and suddenly looked very grave. ”Do you have your belt-knife?”

”Well, yes, but - ”

”Don’t go too far, especially not south."

Confused and a little bit uneasy, Legolas nodded. Hethulin smiled like he would think no further of it and let him go. Legolas shook the queasiness off. In Greenwood he would never be afraid.

”See you later then", he said, and the guards nodded and smiled. Then he hurried over the stone bridge across the little stream, light feet making barely a sound.

*******

Thranduil cracked one eye open and looked after his son as he left. He had wanted to say something, but not known what.

There was something he must say, but how would he break such news, and to a child he barely knew? Gwiwileth could do it, he thought, but it did not feel right. Legolas could not hear it only from his mother. Thranduil had to be there. He had to be a father.

He left the chair to blow life in the embers on the hearth. His neck was aching, and his back, and sleeping with his head resting on his arm had left faint red lines of embroidery imprinted on his cheek. The flames woke unwillingly. Thranduil could not blame them. Autumn seeped in through every crack and fissure and made the Mountain as hazy as the forest; no one woke easily on such a day.

Expect for Legolas. The child woke early every day (unless he had morning lessons, and on bathing days) and Thranduil could only admire his his spirit. Had he been as energic when he was young? It was so long ago.

And he had never been much like Legolas in anything but looks. Gwiwileth said that he was - you have the same spirit, she said, only in Legolas it is quieter - but if so Thranduil had never come close enough to the child to see it. They hardly ever spoke, and when they did, Thranduil did not know what to say.

With the other two it had been so much simpler. Tinuhen would talk whether one listened or not, and though Thranduil could not agree with his love for noldor, there were some points on politics and culture they could both discuss with passion. Merilin was easy to talk to; sweet and gentle, always listening, always knowing how to keep a conversation light-hearted and interesting; a true lady she was, though she had a little of her mother’s silvaness in her too. But Legolas? Thranduil never knew how to approach him, and he did not have the patience of old to try.

"Thranduil, my love! Have you not slept at all?"

Thranduil turned, conciously smoothing down his robe. "I have, actually, though I regret it now. That chair is horribly uncomfortable to sleep in."

"It is not mean to be slept in", the Elvenqueen replied and slipped into his arms. She was still in her night-gown, that old one with pearls that Celebrían had made her long ago. It had lost most of its original green, yet Gwiwileth would not part from it.

”I was trying to write that letter", Thranduil said. "I couldn’t quite figure out how to begin."

"And have you now?"

"I have written _my dear lady_."

"Not bad for a night’s work."

Gwiwileth walked over to the table by the window, gathering her hair into a loose braid it while she looked down on the heaps of letter that Thranduil had started, given up and thrown aside. She raised an eyebrow (delicately arched but messy; the Queen's eyebrows had a will of their own and refused to be tamed) and turned back to him.

"You have been wasting parchment, my dear - and the expensive sort too."

"I cannot write a letter to lady Galadriel on -"

"By the cloak of Elu Thingol - Merilin! _Merilin!_ Your darned fox is - let go of that you beast!"

"Oh no", Gwiwileth sighed as Tinuhen burst through his door. His hair was unbraided, his night-shirt open, and Merilin’s fox dangled from his hand by the scruff of her neck; a torn piece of parchment hung between her teeth, written full of beautiful letters in black and blue ink.

And now Merilin threw her own door open, yelled at Tinuhen for yelling at her, tore the fox from him and pressed it lovingly to her chest. Knowing her, Thranduil did not think it unlikely.

”Valar have mercy", he said, as Merilin took the parchment from her fox and tossed it aside. "The day has hardly begun and you are already fighting. Look, Tinuhen, it's almost whole..."

Tinuhen was boiling. "Almost whole? _Almost whole_ , father? It’s not _in the book!_ The book will never be whole! Merilin, I’ve told you a thousand times to keep that fox on a leash - "

"And I’ve told you a thousand times not to have your window open at night!"

"I was enjoying the sound of the rain!" Tinuhen sputtered. There was a ledge between his and Merilin’s windows, and sometimes the fox slipped into Tinuhen’s room to look for interesting toys. "Perhaps you were too busy to braid your hair to notice, but it had a particularly fair sound this night - a poet’s rain, as Daeron would have put it - and I am currently working on an essay about the different sounds of rain - "

"Will you shut up about your essays! You're just afraid you'll miss it when some maiden plays her lute beneath your window at night but Yavanna'll walk these woods before that happens!"

"Oh you insolent, unsophisticated - "

"Orc-spawn!"

”Here now!” Gwiwileth snapped. ”The way you two quarrell one might think you were dwarves! Tinuhen, if you want your window open, put something up so the fox cannot enter. And Merilin, I don’t ever want to hear you use such language again.” She looked from sister to brother sternly, until they lowered their gazes to the floor. ”I suggest you go back to your rooms until you can act like civilized people. Breakfast is not due yet.”

The children muttered their apoligies and returned to their rooms, Tinuhen with the parchement and Merilin with the fox clutched tightly to her chest. Thranduil rubbed his temples. There had been a time when his eldest were as close as twins, and hardly an angry word was spoke between them.

”They will miss each other”, Gwiwileth said. ”A few weeks when they cannot trample on each other’s nerves, and they may remember their good sides better than their bad.”

”Unless Merilin spends those weeks seething over injustice”, Thranduil said. He looked out the window, where light was spreading slowly behind the clouds, and suddenly yearned to be outside. ”I think it is time Legolas learns. I fear he will not come off lightly if his brother and sister start fighting about this.”

*******

Legolas liked the Mountain Road because it felt like the forest, soft and earthy to bare feet (or wet and muddy, like now), but the elves rarely used it. It was for wagons and horses, and perhaps for noldor - they couldn’t walk in a forest, for they’d stumble over their own importance, or so the wood-elves said. So when Legolas had come only a little distance from the forest-edge, he left it to follow his own paths, all secret and invisible.

The forest closed around him in a damp, moss-scented embrace. It grew so dense he could see nothing more than bearded branches and wrinkled hems, dark green and grey dappled with the red of autumn. The branches formed a green roof that the faint morning light could not penetrate, and so the forest was still filled with night, but it had a sort of light of its own - a dim green shimmer that always seemed to come from somewhere just out of your sight.

A hundred wind-breathed tree-voices followed him as the paths led up into the trees and down again; down shadowed glens with streams at the bottom, over clearings where misty spider-webs shimmered on the heather, and past dark forest pools where leaves floated on the surface and where, if you looked into them, you saw nothing of the bottom; only yourself, and the swaying trees above your head. Some of the trees had stood since the beginning of this Age, and some even longer than that. Their roots went deep into the dark earth, and their branches wove knotty and mossy towards the sky. Some boughs hung so low that even though Legolas was short for his age they stroke his cheeks with cold wet leaves and left silvery pearls in his hair.

 _Good morning, young one_ , old-oak-below-the-hill said when he passed.

”Good morning”, Legolas said, for you should always be polite to oaks; they have long memories and mighty roots. ”How did you fare the storm?”

 _A little north-wind cannot break a single twig from me_ , old-oak said.

It was very still. The only sounds were the water dripping softly into moss, and the fluttering of birds between the branches. Legolas followed a stream until he came to a narrow board bridge pushed deep in the mud. On the other side was the clearing where his family lived in the summers. Legolas crossed the bridge to look at it.

When he was little, the _telain_ and the bridges connecting them had been his whole world; between them he had run and leapt as safe as a squirrell in the trees. They were nothing but wooden platforms, weather-worn and simple, and yet they were home. The world down on the ground he must have known, for in the tree-hall where he was born they had lived mostly on the ground, but he remembered nothing of it. After all, he had been very small when they left the tree-hall; small enough to have forgotten why they left. But he remembered the other places, the other telain from which they had moved, and moved, and moved again; and he remembered when they had come here, and that he had thought they were finally safe and would stay for ever. He remembered learning about the Mountain that the dwarves were digging out. One winter they had moved into it, a new world of stone and tunnels, and walls and closed doors. Now they only lived here in high summer.

Legolas looked up. All the telain had survived the storm, and looked strong and sturdy and welcoming still, even with their ladders rolled up and secured and no way up but through the branches. But there should be elves on them, and a fire on the ground. Merilin and mother should be there. The past summer both Tinuhen and father had often been in the Mountain, but mother and Merilin had always been there.

He went back to the stream and followed it a little further west. Deep down at the bottom of a hollow, shadowed by the trees on either side, the stream ran swift and dark. At one place it came tumbling down a cliff and splashed into a pool, blank as a mirror between great boulders. Willow-by-the-water stood guard there. She was ancient and crooked, her roots wriggling pale as worms over the stones, and Legolas sank down beside her to drink.

 _You are far from the mountain, little one_ , willow said, her voice the softest whisper. _I am glad to see you again._

”I wanted to see if everything was all right. With you. And the telain.”

_And was it?_

”It was.”

Legolas sat down on the wet stone and wrapped his arms around his knees. He wanted to tell willow about what he had heard that night, but he was not sure she would understand.

”Do you know how far away Rivendell is?” he asked instead.

 _The elves from there have different voices_ , she replied uncertainly. _They feel different when they walk._

”It’s across the mountains.”

Willow smiled; Legolas could feel it through the soil beneath his feet. Maybe she did not know what mountains were. It was hard to tell with trees.

”Tinuhen says that if the Rivendell elves were swans, I’d be a sparrow, because I am stupid and unsophisticated.”

_But you are not stupid._

”Unsophisticated then?"

Willow shifted her branches. _What is that?_

”I don’t know. Tinuhen says it. About me.”

_Perhaps it means unbearable, as in playing too many pranks on others?_

Legolas grinned. ”That would be true.”

 _Or_ , willow said, _it means that someone is looking for you; for that, I believe, would also be true. Look up, little one!_

Legolas looked up, confused - and there stood his father on the opposite bank, straight and tall in a long silk robe. Legolas jumped and almost fell backwards, but he caught himself on his hands in the last minute. He could have sworn father had not been there a second ago!

But there he was, calm and proud as always, with his hands clasped at his back, and the silver embroidery of his robe imprinted on his cheek. He wore his crown, the heavy silver piece his father had brought from Doriath. It glinted faintly under the the cloud-veiled sun.

Legolas hastily climbed to his feet. ”Good morning, father.”

”Good morning, Legolas”, father said. He walked down the brink as if it was a neatly trimmed lawn (Legolas had never seen a neatly trimmed lawn, but he imagined it was the kind of thing his father would have liked to walk down) and crossed the stream easily with his long legs, as if the stepping stones were a smooth stone floor. Legolas bowed his head and did not know what to do with his hands. Father came to stand before him, some feet down the slope, so that their eyes were almost at level.

”The trees told me where to find you”, father said and smiled a little. ”Stealthy as a hunting fox, aren’t you? I thought I would never catch up. Have you had breakfast?”

”I’m not hungry.” It was not quite true, but Legolas was too busy thinking about _stealthy as a fox_ to think about that.

”Well then.” Father smiled, then as usual he seemed unsure of how to go on. He reached for Legolas hand. ”Come, sit here with me. There is something I need to talk to you about.”

They sat down on the bank, Legolas absently digging his toes into the damp earth, his father carefully smooting out his robe. Thin metal threads had been woven into the fabric in intricate patterns, like the veins of a leaf. Father followed a vein with his long, slender fingers.

”Mith... Gandalf will ride away soon”, father said after a while. ”He has many errands to attend out in the world. He came here to tell your mother and I something very important. As you know, Legolas, Greenwood... Greenwood is not like it used to.”

Legolas shuddered. ”At some places, you mean.”

”Yes, at some places. And your mother and I, and Radagast and Gandalf, have used all our knowledge and wisdom to try and do something about it, but everything we have tried so far has failed. This... sickness, this Shadow. It is very strong.”

”Yes.”

”Have you felt that?”

”It’s... sometimes it is like it’s watching. Like it’s laughing.”

Father nodded, and his gaze became distant as if it was no longer the trees on the riverbank he saw. ”You are very much a wood-elf, like your mother. Greenwood is mourning, she says, and it is angry. We think that which is behind the Shadow... what is causing it... it is something not only tied to Greenwood. One might say there is a net over all of Middle Earth, and at its core, in the Shadow, is the spider that weaves the net.”

Legolas looked up at him. Father’s eyes were very dark, like forest pools. ”In Dol Guldur?”

Father plucked with the pearls sewn onto his sleeve. ”Yes. In Dol Guldur. There is a sorcerer in that dark place, a great magician, and he... well, he..."

Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest. Willow whispered sadly over their heads.

”Gandlaf fears this sorcerer”, father said. ”As do I, in a way that Gandalf do not understand. He thinks that... well... there are some mighty and important people who should be told about the sorcerer, and there is a meeting of sorts where he wants your mother and I to tell them about this. You heard us talk about it, I think. That meeting is in Rivendell.”

Legolas watched him, waiting for an explanation.

Father tilted his head to the side. ”Gwiwileth and I have no desire to travel to Rivendell, but your brother has. He has been there when he was young, to learn the ways of the Rivendell elves. They are very learned, those elves, arrogant as they may seem, and it was good for Tinuhen to be taught in manners and formalities and the politics of Middle Earth, such things that the noldor knows very well. Merilin went there too, when she was in your age.” Father hesitated, then went on: ”Princes and princesses must know a lot of things. They must know the ways of other people than those they represent; it is their responsibility to understand the world outside their homes.”

There was something strange in his voice and Legolas was certain he did not want to hear anything more.

”So, Legolas... since you are not a small child anymore, and the Misty Mountains are now safer than they have been for many years, your mother and I have decided that you will accompany Tinuhen to Rivendell.”

Legolas stared at him. ”I don’t want to.”

”There is nothing to be afraid of, you will - ”

”I don’t _want_ to!” Legolas said and stood up. ”I don’t want to leave Greenwood! I know nothing of Rivendell, expect that the noldor are snobbish and arrogant and nobody likes them but Tinuhen and I don’t want to be like Tinuhen!”

”Here, now”, father said and tried to get Legolas to sit down again, ”listen to me first. No one wants you to become like the noldor, or to be honest, like Tinuhen. But you need to learn more about the world. Goodness, Legolas, your mother and I have completely neglected to teach you how to be a prince, and...”

”But I can learn to be a prince. I can just do what Tinuhen and Merilin do. I can be sophi... sophisticate. Sophisticat _ed_.”

Father smiled a bit nervously. ”Are you not excited at all to leave Greenwood? To see Anduin, the Misty Mountains? It will be a real adventure, Legolas, I promise.”

”I don’t like adventures.”

”Now that’s not true.”

Legolas bit his lip. ”I’ve never been further than Lake-town. I don’t want to go away. I don’t know anything about anything else than Greenwood.

”Child”, father said and took Legolas’ hands in his. When he sat down, and Legolas stood up, he was still only a head taller. ”I know that you must feel frightened. You love Greenwood, and you understand it; it speaks to you like the world outside never will. You are just like your mother - silvan to your finger-tips. Are you not?”

”I don’t know.”

”I think you are.” Father smiled. ”All but your looks you got from Gwiwileth, and if you’re unlucky you’ll even have her height. Yet you have sindar blood in your veins. My blood, my father’s blood, the blood of Doriath. You have heard of the wonders of Doriath. They were a very magnificient people.”

Legolas watched him uncertainly, wondering what that long-lost kingdom had to do with anything.

”The elves of Doriath were learned”, father said. ”I remember the libraries, known all over Beleriand, and the songs and tales passed down mouth to ear for thousands of years. They had so much knowledge that was then lost. They knew all about history and the lands of Middle Earth, but also about book-binding and parchment-making and cloth-dying and leather-making; they were learned in all sort of things, you see, but what about the silvan elves? What do they know?” He looked at Legolas. ”What do the silvan elves know?”

The answer was simple. ”They know the forest.”

”And they know it well, roots to tree-tops - and so do you, or you will, when you are a little older. But you are a prince. You must know more.”

”I can learn it here”, Legolas said. ”We’ve got books, and I can read.”

”Not as many books as one might wish. And Legolas - do you know why the Doriath elves knew so much?”

”Because they had more books than us?”

Father laughed, a small kingly chuckle that was hastily stifled, but it was a laugh all the same. ”Partly that”, he said, ”but you cannot learn all things from reading. Words read are only words, after all. The elves of Doriath travelled, Legolas, far and wide. That it why they knew so much.”

Legolas looked at his bare feet in the soil, surrounded by tendrils of water, then at father in his splendid silk robe. Truly he would be a sparrow among swans, and though he liked sparrows, he did not want to be one.

”I’m a prince of Greenwood, not of the whole Middle-Earth.”

”So you are”, father said patiently, ”but wish as we may, Greenwood is not alone in the world. We get wares from Lake-town...”

”But I’ve been to Lake-town already!”

”The silk”, father said, ”and the wine and the spices, have travelled to Lake-town from the end of the world. The goblin bands that come into the forest come with plunder from the west; and the rangers of the north sometimes use our roads. I once fought side by side with noldor and Men of the south. Greenwood is in Middle-earth, and Middle-eath will be in Greenwood wether we want it or not. We need to know it, if we are to know Greenwood. But I would not let my youngest son travel to Gondor, so Rivendell will have to do.”

”How far is Gondor?”

”Further than you will ever go, if I have any say in the matter. The road there is harsch and unforgiving. The road back...” He shuddered, and suddenly fell silent. Father had went to the south to fight in the War once, long before Legolas was born, and only a few of the elves who left had come back with him home.

Legolas bit his lip again. ”So", he said, ”I have to go to Rivendell."

”Your mother and I have decided that you will.”

”When?"

Father’s smile became apologizing, in a way. ”The reason Gandalf came so unexpectedly was that he was in a hurry to deliver his message. The meeting Tinuhen will attend would have been in spring, but the date has been changed, and the message that Gandalf sent to tell us about that never arrived. The meeting will be this winter, and to cross the Misty Mountains before the snow shuts the passes you must leave as soon as possible. A few days of preparation is all we can afford.”

Princes don’t cry, Legolas told himself. Princes aren’t scared.

”But”, father said, ”perhaps you shall find that Middle-earth is not so bad, once you are there.”

”There will never be a place I’d rather be than Greenwood.”

”Says the bear cub, before it’s left the lair and seen the sun.” Father smiled, then stood up. ”You need to eat a proper breakfast, if you ever want to grow taller than a dwarf. Come walk home with me, if you can stand to stay on the ground - I am not dressed for climbing trees.”

They walked back in silence, but father took Legolas' hand in his, and he did not let go until they saw the bridge behind the opening of the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two changes of canon in this chapter. Firstly I've added a courtyard behind the magical doors, because I figured the elves need somewhere to keep horses, livestock and a smithy. The courtyard is surrounded by the mountain on all sides but is open to the sky, in case that was not clear enough in the text, and behind this is the cave itself. Secondly, Thranduil has a crown made of silver instead of the leaf-crown he wears in The Hobbit. I have a feeling someone might want to point this out, so before you do: I'm aware of the changes and they're there for a reason :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting!


	3. Leaving Greenwood

The scullery maids had lit a fire at the edge of one of the massive stoves and sat on stools around it, cradling cups of barley in their hands. In day-time the kitchen was brightly lit by many fires, hot and noisy and never empty; now shadows leapt from the low ceiling, and the dark shape of the great bread-stove across the room looked like a sleeping dragon.

"Are you sure you don't want anything, Legolas?" one of the maids asked. "We could find you something better if you don't want our barley."

Legolas sat on top of the stove and picked leaves and pine needles from a basket of sloe-berries. "I'll eat later anyway."

"You're nervous, dear. It'll feel better if you eat a bit."

Legolas looked into the basket and did not answer. Three frost-nights they'd had, and the sloes were ripe and juicy. He thought of sloe pies and sloe wine and wondered if there would be anything left when he came back. But it didn't matter much for either way he would miss sleigh-riding down the mountainssides and snow-ball wars on the courtyard and even the songs and games at Midwinter. He could not see why his parents had to be so cruel. Merilin wanted to go, so why did they not send her?

"I know", Cuguiel said. She was the youngest scullery maid, two years younger than Legolas, and they had always been friends. "There's only a little left of that rosemary bread. Do you want some?"

Legolas glanced at her and smiled faintly. He wasn't hungry even for rosemary bread, but he needed something else to think of than the journey. "I do."

Cuguiel took a stick from the fire and lit a tallow candle with it. Legolas followed her when she slipped from the stool and crossed the vast kitchen to the storerooms. When he went down to the kitchen it had still been dark outside. By every inch the Arien the sun-maia climbed the eastern sky, the departure would come closer.

Cuguiel pushed open a heavy door and climbed onto a barrel full of winter apples, while Legolas held the candle as high as he he could.

"They're up there but I can't reach them."

"Let me." Legolas was short for his age, but Cuguiel was even shorter.

"They're in that blue basket there."

"I have them."

Balancing on toe with one knee on a lower shelf, Legolas took down the basket and found what was left of the roseary bread. It still smelled fresh.

By the fire, the other maids suddenly gasped, and then they began to talk in excited voices.

"Legolas!" one of the called. "Your lady mother is here! Sit down, Your Grace, you can sit here, it's all right..."

"No, no, Síla, I wouldn't take your seat. I'm only looking for my son."

Cuguiel hastily swept the bread in a linen cloth. "Here. You can have it for breakfast instead."

"Will I see you before we go?"

"I don't know. After we're done with breakfast we'll have to start with lunch."

"If we don't see each other", Legolas said, "I'll miss you a lot. And... eat a lot of ginger bread for me in winter, will you?"

Cuguiel smiled and blinked hard. "I will then. And you must tell me everything about Rivendell when you come back."

"There you are", mother said when Legolas and Cuguiel walked out of the store room. She was only half dressed, in a plain woolen dress with her dark hair let out and curling down her back. "I hope you're not just here to eat sweets?"

All the maids hastily assured her that the queen needn't worry about that, because the prince was very helpful, but he was welcome to eat sweets, if he wanted, unless the queendidn't approve... It did happen that Legolas walked down to the kitchen for sweets, but most often it was to help Cuguiel to chop turnips or scrub the kitchen floor, or at least to keep her company while she did that. The kitchen was the best place to hide when he didn't want to be found, for no one ever thought to look for a prince there.

"I need you to to try out your new shoes, in case they need to be adjusted", mother said. "And there's a lot of things to prepare before you can leave. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes", Legolas said, though he had wanted to stay longer with Cuguiel.

They left the kitchen, the glow of the small fire fading in the tunnel behind them. They were only ones moving in the tunnels, and the wind of course, though the wind was rather at rest this morning and only barely managed to stir the tapestries on the rough stone walls. When they came up over ground they could see the forest through the arrows-slits on the nothern side, foggy and bluish in the silver-crisp twilight that had only just grown out of the dark.

"So", mother said after a while, "how do you feel about the journey now?"

Legolas demonstratively kicked on an empty bottle that someone had dropped on the floor. "I don't want to leave."

"Still not?"

"Never."

Mother sighed. "I know you have heard a lot about the noldor, a lot of bad things. That they are proud and arrogant, that they are vain and refuse to see their own faults. Do you know who more is proud and arrogant?"

"Who?"

"Your father", said mother with a gleam in her eyes. "He is too proud and arrogant for his own good, and he will never change. Yet we love him despite that, because he is not _only_ that. And do you know who more is vain?"

Legolas shook his head.

"Your sister is vain", mother said. "And yet also one of the bravest and kindest elves I know. And do you want to know someone who refuses to see her own faults? I do."

"I don't understand."

"The noldor are different from us", mother said, "and they have done many bad things, and they brought a lot of sorrow to Middle Earth. But they are not wicked. At heart they are just like any other elf. They have their faults and their strengths, as do I, and your father, and Merilin, and you too. They are not bad folk, Legolas. And they will welcome you as their own, I'm sure."

They turned down the stair to the Hall of Trees and Legolas folded his arms across his chest. "I don't want them to welcome me."

"Oh, child..." She stopped and hunkered down before him, so her long dark hair touched the stone floor. For a while she was quiet. Then she took his hands in hers. "There is another reason we send you to Rivendell."

Something in her voice told Legolas that this was something she had not planned to say.

"You know that Greenwood suffers. You know not only because the hunters and foresters have told you, but because you have felt it. Is that not so?"

"It is."

"Tinuhen has not", mother said and looked sad. "He does not feel the forest like that. He is a sindar elf above anything, though sometimes he is even more like a noldor; he does not listen to the trees as you do, nor does the earth or the streams tell him much. Your brother may be wise and learned and very sophisticated, but he does not know Greenwood as you do. And yet he is the one we send to speak for Greenwood, because in every other way he is fit for it."

"What's sophisticated?"

"Oh - it's that you're very knowledgable and uh, fine, so to speak. Educated."

"And I'm not?"

"Did I say that?"

"Tinuhen did."

Mother smiled. "Well, perhaps you are not, but you are young. What I wanted to say, Legolas, is that Tinuhen needs to understand more about Greenwood than he ever will on his own. He must know what the trees say, what the earth feels. You must tell him that, Legolas. You must help him. Your father and I need you for that."

Legolas looked up at her, bewildered. He had never thought there was something he could do that someone else could not. Mother could have gone, or Merilin, or father; but they sent Legolas, and trusted him to do what had to be done.

"Then I won't fail you", he said. To his surprise, it came out all mature and grave.

"I know you won't." Mother straightened. "On the way, you'll meet the elves by the Forest Road. They'll be excited to have you among them, I'm sure, though they have not been in touch with us for years. Then Radagast will meet up with you and ride with you to Rivendell. It was long since you met Radagast, was it not?"

"Well, it was", Legolas said, and felt a bit better. "Will he stay with us there?"

"He will, at least until Midwinter. Gandalf should be there too."

"And then I'll come home?"

Mother smiled. "As soon as the High Pass thaws. Come along now. Let's get you those shoes, so you have a chance to walk them in a bit."

*******

In the Hall of Fire, Legolas was seated to the left of Merilin, who sat to the left of mother. That placed him as far away from Tinuhen as possible, which meant his brother had to lean over the table to see anything he could complain about; and Tinuhen would never lean over the table, since that would look uncultivated. Figuring it was the last time for several weeks he would be that far from his brother's line of sight, Legolas enjoyed it as much as he could.

He sank back in his chair and cupped his hands around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Down below the dais the warriors that would ride with them to Rivendell laughed and talked around the tables, passing each other jars of butter or pouring spoonfuls of raspberry jam over their porridge. They were clad in sturdy wool and hide, and their leather jerkins and rucksacks lay under the tables. Hethulin oiled her bow while her daughter smeared butter all over her face, and Maidh was counting his arrows.

"Why do we need so many warriors?" Legolas asked and blew on the chocolate.

"Because the road may be dangerous", mother replied. "When you ride on the Forest Road you will be close to the Shadow, close enough that the forest there will be affected by it. And in the mountains you may run into wolves - or worse."

"Which is why you shouldn't send a child", Merilin said sourly.

Mother sighed. "Merilin..."

"I know we've talked about this already, but..."

"You have already been to Rivendell", mother said.

"Tinuhen has also..."

"Merilin", father said, without looking up from the letter he was reading. "We have talked about this already. Tinuhen is the eldest, and we need you here."

Merilin glared at him, lifted her fox up from under the table and put it defiantly in her lap where it wasn't supposed to be during meals. For once no one said anything about it. Merilin was always the kindest, sweetest girl one could imagine, but she had so dearly wanted to go to Rivendell.

Tinuhen pushed his plate away. "What is the letter saying, father?"

"That we were right", father said with a sigh. "There has been travellers on the Forest Road, and the elves in the outer settlements say some of them has been asking strange questions. The road is guarded. Someone is expecting us to travel to Rivendell."

"Why?" Merilin asked. Legolas pretended he was not listening, in case they would send him away.

"You know why", mother said. "Someone does not want an alliance to form between the last elven realms of Middle Earth. They would drive a wedge between us and lord Elrond, and whatever happened to Tuiw almost let them succeed."

"Will they try to stop us?" Tinuhen asked. "Perhaps more warriors..."

"No more warriors", father said. "You will only draw attention to yourselves. No, we will do as we have discussed earlier. You will travel in disguise."

Legolas almost dropped the chocolate in his lap. "Whaa -"

"I see that you are listening", father said with a quick smile. "Good. You need to know this. When you set out today, you will not do it as the princes of Greenwood."

"Then how?"

"Beren will act as your leader - don't give me that, Tinuhen, he _is_ older than you. You will ride as second in command, and if anyone asks - if you cannot avoid contact - you will not give your name away. The same goes for Legolas. I suggest Beren act as his father. It will not raise much question that the son of a commander follows him on a journey to learn."

Legolas leaned to Merilin and whispered: "If Beren is my father, Tinuhen can't boss with me so much."

"Perfect", Merilin said and blinked.

"You will need to dress accordingly", father said. "Yes, you too, Tinuhen."

"Goodness", Tinuhen said. "What is lord Elrond going to say when we show up at his door like - like a group of beggars... well, Legolas is going to fit in, anyway."

"Sweetheart", mother said with an edge to her voice.

"Well, he is", said Tinuhen and actually leaned over the table to give Legolas a stern look. "He cannot even sit straight."

"Can, too! Just because I don't want to..."

"I would like to hear you say that to lord Elrond!"

"I will say it if he asks!"

"You little beast!" Tinuhen snapped, but at that moment mother roared at him to hold his nasty tongue, and Legolas shrunk in his chair and kept quiet to. Mother wasn't often angry, but when she was, she turned into a dragon.

"You two", she said and looked from the eldest to the youngest of her children with eyes as cold as steel, "have goblins in your mouths. Keep them shut or they'll jump out on the table. Tinuhen, if you have finished your breakfast I suggest you leave until you remember your manners. And Legolas, you need to change."

"That is right", father said and sounded very tired. "Galion!"

"My lord?"

"Does Legolas has any plain winter wear, anything suitable for a journey that will not make him look a prince?"

"He has, my lord, if he hasn't grown out of it yet."

"He will need his formal clothes packed down."

"Come, my prince", Galion said. "Let us get you dressed before your father changes his mind yet again."

Legolas took his cup of hot chocolate and followed him from the room, trying to ignore Tinuhen's staring at his back.

*******

"There", Galion said. "Now you look the son of a revered commander, though I don't know how Beren will explain your hair."

"I don't think anyone will ask", Legolas said and threw a glance in the mirror. To Cuguiel, the green tunic with its silver embroidery and the new shoes of softest leather would look splendid. Legolas was mostly glad to get rid of the high collared travel robe.

"Your father wanted you to wear your mail shirt", Galion said and began to neatly fold the discarded robe. "But the dwarves aren't done with it yet."

"If they don't hurry up it'll be too small for me when they finish."

"True that." Galion put the folded robe on the bed, absently smoothing out an almost invisible wrinkle on the cover. He walked over to the window and closed and secured the shutters. The paint was beginning to wear of. Legolas supposed Tinuhen would not want to fix it. You should've taken care of it better, he would say.

"It will feel strange not to have you around, little leaf", Galion said. "But Rivendell! What an adventure it will be."

"I bet it won't."

"Don't say that. It's a long journey, and I'm sure the noldor are pleasant enough when they're not singing sad songs or talking about the stars."

Legolas traced the carvings around the mantlepiece with his finger, and it struck him how familiar his room was and how strange it would be to sleep in another bed. The room had become more familiar to him than the telain in the forest had ever been. The blotches of melted candlewax on the floor below his nightstand, the place where the door creaked and the uneveness of the stone floor; all were things that Legolas had never thought about, but still come to love.

He bit his lip and felt the flutter of fear in his chest.

"Here, now", Galion said and swept him in his arms. "Don't worry so much. It'll be fine once you're on the road, and when it's time to go back, it will feel as though you've hardly been away. You're a brave young elf, Legolas. You have nothing to fear."

"I'm not, though", Legolas said. "I'm not brave at all."

Galion helped him on with his cloak and fastened the large silver brooch on the front. The cloak had been made specifically for the journey in pale green wool, with slits at the sides and a hood wide enough to hide a badger in. The lining was white deer fur. Mother had said that if Legolas ever needed to hide, he would turn the cloak inside-out, and he would be impossible to spot in snow.

"There", Galion said, "now you look like a true wood-elf." He paused, then bent down. "You may not know it yet, Legolas, but you are brave. Like your mother and father, you have greatness in you. And you will find it when you need it most."

At last, when the morning was nearing day, the elves who were going to Rivendell gathered around in the Hall of Trees, almost ready to go. They stood in a wide circle, thirty-nine elves in all, sweating by the fire in their warm woollen cloaks, but shivering in the air from the open doors. Tinuhen held a sort of speech that no one understood, but then he walked away and Beren told the elves to listen closely and laid his arm around Legolas shoulders.

"Now", he said, "here we are. We have a long and difficult journey ahead of us. We will ride in the early mornings and at dusk, and we will avoid other travellers on the roads if we can. As you have heard, neither the name Tinuhen nor the name Legolas must be spoken. An though it may seem we have a lot of time we must hurry. If we are unlucky the High Pass may be snowed shut, and we will have to head south for the Dimrill Stair instead."

"What's the Dimrill Stair?" Legolas asked.

"It is a pass to the south", Beren explained. "Close to the lost kingdom of Moria, where the dwarves lived."

"Ugh! I'm glad it's lost."

"Don't say that, my prince", said Beren very mildly. "It would have been a safer road had the dwarves still lived there."

"But less pleasant and more smelly", said Maidh and made everyone laugh.

Beren smiled and said: "Prince Tinuhen's errand in Rivendell is a very important one. Even I do not know all the details, but there is a hope that the lord of Rivendell might help us to quench the Shadow, or at least to find out what it is. It is very important that we arrive in time."

"What, does lord Elrond only grant audiences before Midwinter?" someone asked, and everyone laughed again.

"He will be so tired after all the wine that he cannot even leave his bed until New Years Eve", said Maidh. "And then there's more wine!"

"Have you no respect for the Peredhel?" Beren asked, which was a mistake. Now everyone joked that it was because lord Elrond was only half an elf he could not keep up with the others' drinking; and who knew, since Men were known to be flighty, if he didn't amuse himself with some dunedain lasses, now that lady Celebrían... but at that point Beren yelled at them to stop. He looked at Legolas meaningly, then sent Hethulin away because she laughed too much to breath.

"What I wanted to say", said Beren, "was that our journey will be harsh and we will have no time to quarrell or fight. We will need each other. I know you warriors might think you are the ones everyone else will depend on, but if we do get in battle, then you will need our healers just as much as they need you. And if one of the wagon's break, then we'll come nowhere without Naru. So if we are to get to Rivendell in time, if we are to save Greenwood, then we must do that together."

Legolas felt as if even the stone trees around them leaned forward to listen, and the smoke that billowed up and out through the windows brought Beren's words out for all of Greenwood to hear.

"When we set out today", Beren said, "we do it as one. We do it for our friends and loved ones, for our kin by the Forest Road, for every beast and bird and plant, for every tree in Greenwood the Great. And when things go against us, or when your comrades are trampling all over your nerves, that's what I want you to remember."

"You should have said that to Tinuhen too", Legolas said when they were leaving the Hall of Trees and walked down the stairs to the courtyard. "He'll be stomping on my nerves and all of me whenever he can."

"He better not", said Beren, but Legolas was not certain even the Guard's Captain could do something about it.

To the very last minute Legolas hoped that something would happen that forced them to stay, but no such thing happened. They gathered on the courtyard, horses and travellers and everyone else milling about and taking farewell. There was a fine haze of rain that made everything blurry and grey.

Two wagons they had, and in one space had been made between the barrells of food and sacks of hay for Laeros. Everyone fell silent when the healers came down the stairs with him. Very few people had seen him since he arrived earlier that autumn; he had been kept in the infirmary, and now they all saw why. Laeros did not look at any of them. His hair was growing out unevenly and his eyes looked too big for his head. The healers walked on either side of him, holding him upright, and he grasped for a hold of their tunics as if they were branches and he a leaf struggling against storm winds; it seemed impossible that those bony hands could hold so much strength. The healers tucked him inside the wagon and pulled the curtains to. Only when he was out of sight, did the other elves start talking again.

Mother hugged Legolas for what felt like a year and when he squirmed out of her arms, she hastily blinked away tears. Merilin said that Rivendell wasn't a bad place and Legolas was going to like it once he was there. Father said: "Take care, little leaf," and then it seemed he wanted to say something more, but he did not.

The travellers sat up on their horses and waved goodbye, one last time, to the Mountain and the Greenwood elves.

"Everyone ready?" rang Tinuhen's voice over the others.

"Ready!" the travellers called. Hethulin kissed her daughter one last time before she handed her to her father. Maidh's mother ran up with an extra tunic he had forgotten. Waving and cheering they rode out. They passed through the arch of the great Doors and over the churning stream. Trees like watchful giants stretched high over their heads, their branches entwined to a roof so far up they were but a blur in the haze of rain; the horses hoove's whispered over leaves and damp earth.

The forest closed around them, as if the Mountain had never been there.

*******

Long after the last riders had passed over the bridge and faded into the shadows of the forest, Thranduil still stood on the stair and looked after them.

"This will be a trial for both our sons", Gwiwileth said.

"It will", Thranduil agreed. "And not only for them."

The sight of the riders cheering and laughing as they left, all so eager to be on their way, had filled him with a sense of forboding. They weren't warriors. They were hunters and hall-guards who knew the dangers of the forest, but little else; Beren was the only one who had fought in anything else than a skirmish.

Thranduil would have sent real warriors - but there were none. When the remains of the Greenwood host returned after the battle in the dark lands, neigh on three thousand years ago, they had thrown their weapons to the ground in dismay, and few had picked them up again. When the Sorcerer took abode in the southern part of the forest, they had fled; and they had fled everytime the Shadow had come too close. Always fled, never fought.

But the road to Rivendell went close to the Shadow and over treacherous mountains. It might demand more of the travellers than they were prepared for.

"Thranduil?" Gwiwileth slipped her arm around his waist. "Is aught wrong?"

She looked out the Doors, and Thranduil knew what she thought about. Could she feel the Shadow watching her across the vastness of the forest, the way he could? The Shadow some said was but a man, but whose presence Thranduil knew too well, too well...

No, he thought and yearned suddenly to call the travellers home, close the Gates and all windows and never look out again. No, Thranduil, do not think of the Dark One. Not him. He was vanquished.

"It is nothing", he said. The Mountain was safe. The Shadow may crawl into soil and root, seep into wind and water, but into the Mountain it would not come. No battle ram would break the magic gates. They would endure, come what may.

Come what may.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to tumblr user miss-elessar for proof-reading, and thank you all for reading and commenting! It means a lot to hear from you.  
> I haven't got much to add this time, but the story has taken off and the adventure is starting for real, so this is when things start happening :3


	4. The elves go west

"How long till we come to the Forest Road?" Legolas asked.

"Three days at the most", said Beren. "We will follow the Mountain Road, so the ride will be rather easy."

Tinuhen looked at them over his shoulder. "Mountain Road! This is a path, naught more. Not even the Forest Road is a proper road. Real roads are broad and paved and straight as an arrow's flight - those in Gondor have three files, one for footmen, one for riders, and one for wagons."

"And they have Men on them, too", said Legolas. "I don't like straight and paved roads."

"You have never seen one."

"Neither have you."

Tinuhen sighed and turned forward again, muttering something about unsophisticated, or if it was uncultivated this time.

The road (or path) was water-sick and the drizzle clung to the air. It was very still. When the path narrowed, Legolas strecthed his arms wide and let his hands brush against the wet bark of the trees edging it. They did not speak to him, and he did not want them to. He could feel that they bade him farewell.

Amlûg threw his head and snorted, eager to stretch his legs and run. Legolas had never ridden him further than to Lake-town, and that was two years ago when Amlûg was still very young, but now it was as if he knew he was out on a long, long journey and wanted to get going. But Beren said that if the horses were to last the journey they must spare their strength from the beginning, so they kept a calm pace.

Amlûg wasn't the only one who was restless. Maidh suddenly spurred his horse and gallopped right through a deep puddle, splashing water all over himself and the elves around him. Tinuhen yelled at him for ten minutes straight, which gave Beren a headache, and Maidh laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse.

"We're not going to get bored as long as Maidh is with us", Hethulin said. "Furious, maybe, but not bored."

The drizzle never stopped, and it never turned into a real rain. Crows croaked in the mist. They passed Cloaked Hill, then the stream where Legolas had caught frog's eggs when he was little and the place where mother used to set her snares. Then they ate their lunch by another stream beneath a couple of _telain_ , but the elves who used to live their had moved into the Mountain for the winter. Legolas walked around in his stiff newly-made shoes and all the travellers, expect for Beren and Tinuhen who were used to riding, complained that they were tired and sore and never wanted to sit on a horseback ever again. Laeros did not leave his cart, and no one really wanted him to. They stayed off the road for a few hours and set off when it was beginning to darken.

They had not come very far when a wheel on one of the wagon's broke and they had to wait for Naru to repair it.

"I've changed my mind", Hethulin said. "We will be both furious _and_ bored. Maidh, do something funny."

"If Maidh does something funny again I will send him back to the Mountain if I so have to carry him", Beren said. Maidh was quiet.

Legolas jumped up and down in the moss. His feet were itching. If he didn't get to walk soon his legs would jump off and run away by themselves, but Tinuhen didn't want anyone to stray.

A few hours later, when it was almost dark, they found a place suited for a camp.

They set up tents in a circle, tethered the horses to poles they drove into the ground, and made a fire between some stones that Legolas and Hethulin found by a nearby stream. They made their dinner in the dark (but elves have always liked the dark) and sat under the stars eating bread and soup and telling stories. Only Laeros and one of his healers stayed in the wagon, and now and then they heard him sobbing, but no one mentioned it. Legolas was glad as long as Laeros stayed in there. He never wanted to see his haunted eyes again, or the scar-crossed skin stretched taunt over his bones.

The trees creaked and whispered, leaves floated down on their heads. Maidh told them the story of the Pale Child, and though everyone knew it wasn't real, they all started looking over their shoulders into the dark. Legolas huddled under his cloak between Beren and Hethulin. It was rather cold now, not that the elves minded, and the fire gleamed in ebony and hazel hair, in spear-tips and helmets. This morning, he had woken in his own bed in the mountain and everything had been as usual. He'd not wake up in that bed for a very long time now. But frightening as that thought might be, it was also exciting, like a story that's slightly too scary, but that you also really want to hear the end of.

Eitelend and Beren stayed up late, long after they had told Legolas to go to sleep. He lay alone in the tent, expect for Hethulin, who was fast asleep, and listened to the low murmur of voices outside, and the humming of tree-voices, and the crackle of the fire. Now and then one of the horses scraped with a hoof in the moss, or one of the sentinels shifted weight from one foot to the other, and Legolas twisted under his blanket and could not sleep.

Then Tinuhen said: "I cannot imagine a single person in Rivendell who would want us ill. Do you not think father is just being over-suspicious?"

"I thought so at first", came Beren's voice. Legolas lay completely still and listened hard. "But the incidents have been too many and too close... what with Tuiw and all..."

"We do not know if that has anything to do with it. We have not even found him yet!"

"All the more reason to be cautious. If he's been killed..."

Legolas breath caught in his throat. When Tuiw did not return from Rivendell, everyone had known he might be dead - but no one had said he might have been _killed_.

"Hush", Tinuhen said. "Do not say that too loud, we do not want people to worry..." He lowered his voice to a whisper and all that Legolas heard was _message_ and something about _could be... accident_.

Beren said that great things were happening and _it is no strange that..._

"But consider this", Tinuhen said, raising his voice again. "If the last message was hindered too, on purpose, who would have done that? Who would have known the time of the council had been moved? Very few expect those who will participate. And that means..."

"Yes", Beren said. "That means treachery, and from the very midst of the Wise."

The discussion died then, but it was as though all things unsaid and half-said hung in the air long afterwards. The word treachery found its way into Legolas' dreams and made them anxious and dark. It had an ominous sound to it.

* * *

"Yavanna have pity on my poor back!" Hethulin groanded on the morrow. "I am probably dying."

"Do you want me to do something funny?" Maidh asked and looked with interest at the half-full bucket of water beside her.

"Don't you dare! One step closer and I'll cut you in half."

But if the journey started with a lot of grumbling, the travellers slowly found a rythm in the steady course of the days. They got up before dawn, let the horses graze their fill, walked beside them a while to get warm themselves, then mounted and rode until the day was full. During the brightest hours they stayed off the Mountain Road, empty as it was on other travellers, but rode on from dusk until it was nearly dark. The road took them far away from places that Legolas knew. He let Beren hold Amlûg's reins and climbed into the trees to look around, straying a bit from the path, then returning, then straying again.

On the third day they ate their last fresh bread, and that night they shared camp with a couple of hunters who had had a bad luck. Beren decided to share the last of their meat with them.

"Not much game in these parts", they said and gnawed hungrily on dried mutton strips. "We wouldn't have gone so far, but we were following a boar and her cubs. Then we lost her."

"Might have been just as well", said Hethulin. "Do you really want to eat a creature that strays this far south?"

"Huh. True enough."

"Why not?" Legolas asked.

"Because normal creatures don't go this close to the shadow-wood", Hethulin said. "Those that do aren't... healthy."

"Doesn't the elves by the Forest Road hunt, then?"

"They do, but cursed if I know how they dare to."

When they broke camp the next morning, the forest felt different. The tree-voices sounded distant and the branches that wove over the pale grey sky blocked out almost all the light. They had to stop earlier than usual for lunch, because Laeros was tossing and turning in his wagon and the healers did not know how to make him stop. They lifted him down on the ground, and Laeros stumbled and fell. For a long while he just sat on the cold brown leaves and shook.

The others were making a fire, and Legolas hunkered down a little to the side and watched Laeros sideways. He had begun to sit with the others at dinner now, at least for as long as he could take it before he became anxious by so much people, and anyway he needed to leave the wagon now and then, so the others were getting used to his quiet, haunted presence. But this was different. The healers were desperate; they did not know what to do.

"You're in the way", Tinuhen grumbled and pushed past Legolas, because apparently his horse had to be tethered just there. Legolas glared at his back and decided he could just as well make himself useful, so he began to help Naru with the fire. The carpenter smiled at him and showed him how to make a platform of larger pieces of wood and build the fire on top of it, to keep it from the wet ground.

Eventually Laeros stopped shaking and they could move on.

They came to a clearing where the afternoon sun tinted the grass gold. Across it the forest rose again, but the wood-elves stopped hesitantly before it. The trees loomed high over their heads and threw shadows over the grass; barely any sunlight found its way through their naked branches, barely any wind blew through the shrunken undergrowth between their wriggling roots. The tree-voices were dark and mournful.

"Is this the shadow-wood?" Legolas asked.

"Yes and no", said Beren. "It is very close to the border, but the true Shadow is further south."

"What exactly is the border?"

"I'm not sure", Beren replied. "You might say it is magic - you could not touch it, or see it, though I suppose you can tell where it is by the look of the forest. Thranduil holds it up by his will, and the Shadow cannot pass it."

"My father does that?"

"Aye."

Tinuhen rode on inside. The shadows ate him like the night eats the moon, and Legolas wanted the warriors to follow him, but no one did. With darkness hiding his face and taking the gold out of his pale hair, Tinuhen surveyed the road ahead, then turned to the company in the sun. "It appears to be safe."

"Well and good. I will take up the rear", Beren said. "The Forest Road will be close now and if we are lucky, we will reach on of the settlements before it gets too dark. I want Hethulin and Maidh to keep an eye up front, and you, Legolas, will stay close to Tinuhen and obey everything he says. Is that understood?"

Legolas looked up at Tinuhen, who seemed unsure if he should be angry or relieved that Beren took command, and sighed. Tinuhen heard that and shot him a warning glance.

"Yes."

"Good. Let us move on."

They rode in silence now. With Maidh surveying the road ahead, and Beren at the rear keeping an eye on the forest, there was no one to lighten the mood. On Beren's orders, the warriors had strung their bows and made sure their spears or swords were close at hand.

When Hethulin gave a shout, they all tensed, the warriors gripped their spears tighter, and Legolas listened for any warning from the trees. Then Maidh returned.

"We've found the Forest Road", he said, and with a smile, the first since they entered the almost-shadow-wood, he added: "Hethulin was so shocked when she found cobbles in the forest she almost fell off her horse. I swear if she was any more silvan, she would be a tree."

"Excellent", Tinuhen said and seemed to relax a bit. "Now then, Legolas, I bet you do not remember the Forest Road."

"Is it different from this one?"

Tinuhen smiled in a way that made Legolas think of files for footmen and wagons and riders, but it was not quite so.

The Forest Road had been paved once by skilled hands, but the forest had long since taken over. Moss grew between the cobbles, and the milestones were overturned; slick plants filled the dikes. Dappled by sunlight where the trees stood scarcer on each side, it was broad enough for three to ride easily beside each other.

"It used to be finer", Tinuhen said, disappointed. "When we lived in Eden Bar there was not so much moss on it."

Legolas looked up and down the road as far as he could see in the dark. "Is Eden Bar the old hall?"

"Which of them?" Tinuhen asked. "There are many old halls."

"I mean the one where I was born."

Tinuhen gave him a faint smile. "Yes, that was Eden Bar."

"So is that near?"

Tinuhen nodded. It was the longest conversation Legolas had had with him without any of them starting a fight.

"It is close to the settlement where we will sleep tonight", Tinuhen said. "The elves there lived in the hall before, but they refused to leave when the King and Queen did."

"Can't we go and look at it?"

"There's nothing left to look at. The Shadow took it long ago. And we must stay on the Road."

Legolas was disappointed, but Tinuhen did not sound like he wanted to discuss it. After a while Legolas asked: "Why did we leave the tree-hall? Why didn't we stay and fight the Shadow?"

Tinuhen only looked at him, and suddenly he seemed older than ever; and sad, sad as father. He looked at Legolas as if he wanted to say, you don't know, you don't understand, you have not seen what I have seen.

"Because we did not want to die", he said coolly, and turned away.

* * *

It grew dark quickly. They lit torches, and the shadows leapt and danced in a frenzy around them. Legolas kept as close to Tinuhen as the horses would allow.

Finally Tinuhen said: "We must stop for the night. This is too dangerous. We can go on to the settlement tomorrow."

"Agreed, my prince", Beren said. "We need to set up the tents while - "

"Look out!" Hethulin cried. Everyone jumped, and the warriors pulled their swords halfway out of their sheaths.

"Peace", a voice said from the shadows. Then all of a sudden there were elves around them - foreign, dark-eyed elves clad in fur and leather, with pale stern faces like they never saw the sun and seldom laughed. Other elves would have laughed and mocked the travellers for being jumpy, but these ones simply looked on with eyes as black as the forest.

One of them stepped into the torchlight. She had copper-red hair kept in many small braids, bow in hand and quiver over her shoulder, and a white fur flung over her shoulders.

"Prince Tinuhen", she said and bowed her head lightly. "We are honoured to have you here. Has the journey been well?"

"Ah, uh - " Tinuhen blinked, caught of guard. "Yes. Though it saddens us greatly to see the forest in this state."

"What state? Oh - you mean the Shadow." She smiled briefly, a stern non-smile that struggled against the stiff, red-gleaming scars trailing down the corner of her mouth. "I forget it is not like this everywhere."

"Pardon me, my lady, but I must have forgotten your name."

"It's Ninniach, and I am no lady, my prince. I was a maid of your mother's."

Legolas' eyes widened. "I remember you! You used to sew a lot... and you had a dog that followed you everywhere! And you told stories..."

"Ah, prince Legolas", Ninniach said and this time she smiled wider. The left side of her face held the marks of old flames, and her eyes were sharp as steel blades, but apart from that she looked like the kindly maid he vaguely remembered. "I am glad to have you here again in the shadow-wood. It is not a bad place to live, once you get used to it, though dangerous to travel through. Especially at night, of course, which reminds me. We must go on towards the settlement. You may follow me. There is a shorter route through the trees."

"Broad enough for a wagon?" Tinuhen asked.

Ninniach looked confused. "Why do you bring a wagon?"

"That can wait. Let us take the road. We cannot leave it behind."

"Very well then", Ninniach said. She raised her hand and made some kind of sign. Without a word, the rest of her elves spread out around the riders, some between the trees, some in their branches, and Ninniach herself set off at a brisk pace. Tinuhen urged his horse after her, and Legolas after him. He felt a bit safer, because Ninniach seemed able to handle these woods.

No one spoke a word until the glow of a fire became visible in the dark. Then one of the elves of the shadow-wood called out, and far away by the fire he was answered by clear voices. The trees opened into a clearing, and tents emerged from the dark, big hide tents surrounded a palissade made of sharpened poles. Through the wooden gate they rode.

The elves of the shadow-wood - Legolas thought about them as such, even though he knew the real Shadow was still far away - all had those dark eyes and pale faces, and their furs and skins were many times mended, their tents old and weather-worn. But they greeted the riders warmly, if not as merrily as they would have done elsewhere in Greenwood. They made them sit down on long hewn logs around the fire, and bowls of steaming pheasant-and-cabbage soup were passed around - though the settlement did not have enough bowls, so the riders had to fetch some of their own.

"So you are the leader?" Beren asked Ninniach while they ate.

She chewed down a piece of stringy meat and shook her head. "We have no leaders."

"Ninniach is the most capable of leading hunts, and such things", another elf added. "She often leads when we need a leader."

"At other times, I do not", Ninniach said.

Judging by the eagerness with which the elves of the shadow-wood had eyed the weapons and armour from the mountain, and that they seemed to have more bows than bowls in their settlement, Legolas supposed that 'such things' meant fighting.

The elves explained they always kept an eye out on the Forest Road. It was still passable, but mostly thanks to them, because they escorted travellers through all the dangerous parts - sometimes on the ground, taking the chance to gather news and to trade, and sometimes when the travellers were unfriendly (or dwarves) from the trees, never coming down to talk.

"We have never left anyone on their own", said an elf with golden-brown eyes like late-summer honey. Like all the others he spoke very quietly, as if he was afraid to give himself away. "Unless, of course, they're downright hostile, which happens sometimes. A settlement to the east met a couple of men who must have been outlaws or the like. They didn't want any help and didn't get any. They were killed the next day."

"By what?" Legolas asked.

"No", Tinuhen said, before the elf could reply. "We won't talk about that now. It's not important. It's late, isn't it?"

Ninniach slowly shook her head. "No, it isn't very late. Why do you say that?"

"Because it is dark", Tinuhen said.

"But it is always dark."

"Oh", Tinuhen said, and his face fell. "Well, it does not darken this early further from the shadow-wood, but I suppose it is different here."

"Does it not? Then I beg your pardon, my Prince. I had forgotten that."

"Forgotten?!

"It was long since I saw it."

"That long? Why, you should travel more, see the real Greenwood! It's not far, not even a day's ride. I do not see why you stay here all the time?"

"No, you don't", Ninniach said and fixed her gaze on the leaping flames of the log-fire. "If I saw the forest as if once was, it would only make me sad. Perhaps I would not want to return to the shadow-wood - much like none of you mountain-elves do not return to it. Your hunters do not come here, not that there is much to find for a hunter who does not know where to look. No one wants to come into the shadow-wood. No one wants to know."

Tinuhen unconsciously began to chew at his thumbnail.

"But I must stay", Ninniach said. "I cannot tempt myself to leave. I will not abandon the forest. The _real_ Greenwood, as you call it, does not need my help; this Greenwood does. Is it truly the real Greenwood? I used to call it so, used to say that this, this is not it's true face, this is a sickness and it will soon pass. But it has been like this a long time now. Perhaps this has become the real Greenwood, and yours is only waiting to turn the same?"

Legolas looked into his empty bowl of stew and did not dare to say what he thought. But then Ninniach sighed and she sounded so sad he said it anyway.

"I don't think Greenwood has changed in heart. The tree-voices aren't different from outside the Shadow, only more sad. The earth is the same, only colder. And as long as it has the same heart, isn't it the same?"

"Little one", Ninniach said, and the scar across the corner of her mouth curved into a stiff smile. "You remind me of your mother."

"I do?"

"I knew her before she became the Elvenqueen", Ninniach said. "I followed her into the war, tended her wounds when she fell, and when she married the new King, I became her maid. Much we saw together, and never once did she forget Greenwood, nor did she lose hope for it. Gwiwileth may have left it now to be with her people, but I see much of her in you."

"We're going to save it", Legolas said. "There's a cure in Rivendell."

Ninniach smiled at that, but did not answer. She didn't look like she believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting! Any input, question or suggestion is appreciated, or just tell me what you think :)
> 
> Huge thanks to tumblr user miss-elessar for proof-reading.


	5. Ill Tidings

Legolas woke at dawn by the sounds of the settlement coming to life. The strokes of an axe against a chopping-block echoed over the settlement; people greeted each other as they got out of their tents, a small child screamed with breathless laughter and there was the sound of thin ice cracking and small feet splashing into water.

Legolas untangled himself from the blankets, pulled a tunic over his under-shirt and crawled out of the tent. Brittle frost glittered in first morning light and made the grass stiff and crunchy. Ninniach knelt by the fire and blew life into the embers.

"Winter's here", she said when Legolas sat down beside her, and gave him a lopsided grin. "Will you help me with this? Try to splint some of that wood, I need some smaller pieces. You can borrow my dagger."

"I have one."

She looked up when he drew it from his belt. "Oh, and a very fine one at that! Are those runes? What do they say?"

"They just say Legolas."

Ninniach smiled with some envy; most wood-elves could not read at all. "Now, careful so you don't cut yourself, okay? Push the dagger from you - and watch your feet!"

The light slowly spread over the clearing while Ninniach fed the embers with bigger and bigger splints. The homely smell of burning wood woke the other Mountain elves. Yawning and stretching they began to tend their horses and help with the breakfast.

"Say, my young friend", Ninniach said, "do you remember any of the tree-hall? Because I'm thinking your brother might want to see it."

"He doesn't", Legolas said. "I wanted to go see it but Beren said we'd only be sad and Tinuhen agreed with him."

"They sure are afraid to get sad, aren't they? I don't think it would hurt for your brother to see what has become of the hall."

"Why not?"

"Because it's no good to sit in your mountain and forget what it really is like out here. I want all the high lords and ladies of Greenwood to know what the Shadow is. To them it's just a word, but out here it's real."

Legolas considered it. "Maybe you could tell Tinuhen it would be a short-cut."

"You know, maybe I will", Ninniach said and strode away towards Tinuhen, who was just coming out of his tent, smoothing down the front of his embroidered travel coat.

The elves of the shadow-wood and the travellers sat down together around the fire and shared a thin porridge flavoured with dried berries. Legolas did not like it, but he didn't want to hurt anyone, so he ate it all. Then they passed around acorn-flour bread and the elves of the shadow-wood looked like it was a real feast. Laeros sat with them. The elves of the shadow-wood did not seem bothered by his silent prescence at all, as if they had seen worse things.

Somehow Ninniach persuaded Tinuhen that they should take the would-be short-cut past the old hall. A pale sun slanted down between the knotty branches when they rode away, waving good-bye to the settlement, but the path they followed to the old hall led them into even darker depths, were the branches covered the sky almost completely. The frost did not melt here, but it did not glitter in the grey shadows that were the only light. The hoof-beats, and the creaking and moaning of the wagons as they bumped over the trees-roots, sounded loud and out of place.

The elves of the settlement moved swiftly and soundlessly, like shadows. Now and then a face, eerily pale, glinted in the torch-light, or the tip of a spear reflected the light. Ninniach had gone quiet and serious again. Many of the riders looked around and mumbled to each other as if the places they passed were familiar. When they came to an old elm that lay just beside the path, hollow and broken and with its roots pulled violently from the ground in some long-ago storm, many elves cried out in horror, and Beren wailed with sorrow. Maidh, whose reputation as the jester would be ruined if he cried, told Legolas that elm-with-many-bird's-nests had been a much loved tree, and many birds had lived in her branches; sparrows and finches and a mighty eagle just below the sky.

Beren dried his tears with his sleeve. "We're getting close."

Ninniach nodded silently at that.

The trees opened to a clearing, and they stopped dead in the forest edge, and silence fell over them.

Before them the ground was black and charred, crossed with blackened tree-trunks, and under the ashes glinted broken lanterns and smashed goblets, a ruined tapestry, a torn silk dress.

The trees edging the clearing were scorched and dead, only a blackened stump remained of some. The elves could see the sky above, but it felt far away, and the sun could not make the place any happier. It was as though the fire had went out only an hour ago, and yet the air said it had been like this forever.

Beren wailed again. Hethulin clung to him, sobbing. Maidh hid his face in his hands.

"Is this the hall?" Legolas asked, and his voice felt too loud and too small all at once in the silence.

" _Ai Elbereth_ ", Tinuhen said. "I did not think it would be like this."

Ninniach bowed her head. "They did say something dark and powerful was here that night, something more than orcs."

The horses would go no further than the forest edge, and some elves stayed there as well. Legolas slowly walked over the charred ground. Now and then he felt something other than ashes under his feet; a plate, a book, a toy horse that for all he knew could have been his.

The hall felt small now, even smaller than the Hall of Trees at home, but once, he thought, it had been the whole world. There used to be great green oaks edging the clearing, and their branches used to stretch across the sky like a dark green veil. Legolas could not have told exactly where the tree with his family's talan had been.

At the far end of the clearing was a dais of smooth river stones, covered in slick black moss, and on it stood the thrones still looking out over the ruins of their hall. Legolas sat down on the dais between them. Maybe he had used to sit here once between his parents and watch other elves dance and feast in the hall. He traced the remnants of intricate carvings - leaves and flowers and berries - on the thrones with his fingers. Some paint remained beneath the layer of soot, bright green and yellow.

Beren came to sit beside him.

"This is... this is worse than I could imagine", he said and blinked away tears. "To see it like this. Of course, we all knew what happend but... to see it..."

"I thought we left it in a, you know, a planned sort of way. When it became dangerous."

Beren shook his head. "We fled, that's what we did, like hares from the fox."

Sometimes Legolas dreamt of fire, though he had never known why before. "What happened?"

"Orcs. They came one night, long before the Shadow had reached north of the southern mountains. Like you have been told, we had already moved many times by then as it spread. First from our homes in the southern eaves. Then from Taurtham in the Great Valley. From Galentham, west of the mountains. When we came here, we thought we might stay for ever, because the Shadow was so far away."

"Eden Bar."

Beren smiled faintly. " _New Home._ That was all we wanted."

"And then the orcs came."

"With fire. And swords. And something more than that - something darker. They spoke of a... a spirit, dark and yielding a great sword. I never saw it. But we were unprepared and they were many. So we ran. We heard the trees screaming behind us, and the elves that fell, but we ran. And we lived."

Legolas wrapped his arms tightly around his knees.

"As you know", Beren said, "we lived north of the Road in many years after that, spread out in little settlements just like the elves out here. We moved often and never let our guard down. And now we have the Mountain."

"Will the Shadow ever come to it?"

"Some day, perhaps, unless we can stop it before that happens."

"And if we can't, what will we do?"

Beren sighed. Then he put his hand on Legolas shoulder.

"We will do whatever the Elven King and Queen tells us to do. If they say we flee, then we flee. It is the only way."

"Ninniach didn't flee."

"And you have seen what has become of her. They're a hunted people, ever on the run. Sooner or later they must come to the Mountain."

When Tinuhen gave the order to set off again, Beren brushed soot from the back of his tunic and took Legolas by the hand. The other elves stood quiet and pale at the edge of the burned hall, and they all seemed to have aged a thousand years since they left the Mountain.

"It is time to leave", Tinuhen said, and for some reason he took Legolas' hand from Beren and squeezed it once, as if there was something he wanted to say, but he did not know how to.

Ninniach and her elves followed them back to the Road, and there they took farewell. Before they split, Ninniach took Legolas a little to the side.

"I will tell you something that you can tell your mother, when you see her again", she said, almost in a whisper. "I would not trust your brother with this."

Legolas looked up at her, wide-eyed.

"Most of us think the Shadow comes from the the old fortress, from Dol Guldur where the Sorcerer lives", Ninniach said. "That it was created by the Sorcerer to corrupt the forest. I do not agree."

"You don't?"

"A Sorcerer", said Ninniach, "would have made the forest fair, don't you think? A fair trap to lure people in, a bait for the unwary, an illusion to cover his evil workings. I think Greenwood created the Shadow. She knew what the Sorcerer would try to do, so she twisted and changed herself, so that she could never be used as a bait. The Shadow fits the Sorcerer, yes; it makes Greenwood dangerous, and keeps the elves away. But would it not have been worse if we had stayed?"

"Then there is no cure for the Shadow", Legolas said. "The only thing to do is to drive out the Sorcerer."

Ninniach nodded.

"Lord Elrond must know that. Maybe he can do it."

"Maybe", Ninniach said, though he could tell she did not believe it.

While the other shadow-wood elves vanished among the trees, Ninniach stood on the road looking after the travellers until the darkness took her. She waved when Legolas looked back, a tiny spot of copper hair and white fur, straight and slender as a young tree. Her words rang in his head over and over again.

Whatever Beren had said, Legolas did not think that Ninniach was the one on the run.

* * *

They came to a broad stream and stopped there to, screaming and shivering, wash themselves and their clothes from the first part of their journey. Two elves left to follow a deer track, and came back dragging a large hart. That evening they feasted on roast venison, and Hethulin split the bones in halves and they ate the marrow with their fingers; the fire crackled, the stars shone, and the trees seemed happy to have them there.

"Well, Legolas", Beren said that night, "do you still miss home?"

"I miss the Mountain", Legolas said, "but as long as it's Greenwood it's still home."

Beren smiled and threw another piece of wood on the fire.

"I wonder what mother and father is doing, though", Legolas said. "And Merilin. I hope they are fine."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"No reason."

"Soon we will meet Radagast", Beren said. "That will give you something new to think of. I'm sure he has a lot of interesting things to tell us."

And on they rode through the almost-shadow-wood; through a forest of pines, and a forest of oaks, and a forest of elms; down long narrow valleys littered with mossy boulders, and over steep ridges with knife-sharp edges that leaned over dark lakes. Sometimes the wagons bumped over cobbles, sometimes they squeaked over roots, and sometimes they rolled smoothly over leaves and soft pine needles.

When it darkened one night - Legolas had lost count, but he thought it was the **tenth** night since they left the Mountain - they saw lights ahead of them near the Road, and voices that weren't elvish. The travellers stopped hidden among the trees and debated in hushed voices whether they should go on or not. They would have been wary even with merchants, but it was not trading season and the strangers were more likely to be outlaws than merchants.

Tinuhen sent Hethulin and another elf to investigate, and on Hethulin's suggestion Legolas was allowed to go with them to see and learn. They stole through the trees like shadows, keeping away from the moonbeams that lit up the forest floor. When they neared, they sank down ever so quietly in the branches and looked down. A dozen Men slept around the fire, curled up under thick blankets and furs. There was also a tent, a large red one, but there was no light in it. Used bowls and tankards had been casually beside an empty cauldron, and their horses were tethered nearby.

Legolas crept out on a long branch until he was right above the sleepers at the edges of the camp. He watched their strange, hairy faces and the plump shapes of their bodies beneath the blankets. One was awake across the fire. He seemed lost in though. Legolas gazed at him and wondered what a Man might be thinking about in the middle of the night.

The man looked up.

Legolas ducked and hid his face against the branch.

There was a long silence.

"I-I'm not afraid of you, elf", the man said finally. When Legolas glanced up, he saw the man looking around as if he was not sure if what he had seen was real or not. "I - we - we're only passing through, we want no ill."

Above him, Hethulin gave a clear laugh that made the man jump. She had not needed to reveal herself and Legolas wondered shamefully if she did it to draw attention from him, so that he would not be in danger if the Men proved hostile.

The lone man crept together like a frightened hare, then shoved the man beside him hard on the shoulder.

"Wake up - wake up!"

The other man rubbed his eyes and sat up, taking a sword from under the bundle of clothes that served as his pillow. Legolas wanted to crawl back before the whole camp woke, but he dared not move just then. But this man - he was older, and eyed the trees with more experience than fear - did not wake anyone else up. Instead he said, very quietly, without looking anywhere special: "We're mercenaries searching for a place to stay over winter, only travelling through and come in peace. We want you no ill. I'm sure you already know, but there's something foul afoot further north. The elves along the Road has told us things have been moving. Orcs. Wargs, maybe. They didn't want to specify, but told us to be careful."

Hethulin was quiet for such a long time the younger man seemed to think the elves had gone, but the older one only waited.

Finally Hethulin said: "Which way are you heading?"

"East. Not to the palace, mind, just through the forest."

"Worry not. You will be safe", said Hethulin. Then she began to move back, but she let the men hear her, and while they watched her Legolas could sneak back into safety.

"You were seen", Hethulin said on the way back. It wasn't a question, and not an accusation either; it was just a statement.

"He was scared of me."

"He was."

"Why?"

"Men are scared of what they don't know", Hethulin said. "And they are weak. To them we are very dangerous when we want to."

Hethulin didn't tell Tinuhen that Legolas had been seen, and a little later, Tinuhen decided the men proved no threat and decided they should simply pass them by. So that they did, a silent line of quiet shapes saying not a word, only letting their laughter be heard when the men gasped and gawked at their shadows.

Hethulin told Tinuhen and Beren what the old man had said about things moving up north.

"Strange", Beren said. "We've heard nothing of the sort. Maybe they wanted to scare us?"

"Greenwood is vast. 'North of here' can mean anything. We wouldn't know if it was far away."

"You are right", Beren said. "Still, it worries me that orcs or wargs would have dared to venture into Greenwood north of the Shadow. I hope it means nothing, but I'm afraid that it might."

* * *

That night, Legolas woke up because it suddenly became quiet.

Not completely quiet - there was still the sound of a light night's rain, and Tinuhen's even breaths - but the tree-voices were gone. Legolas pressed his palms against the fur beneath him. He could not feel the earth humming, nor the warmth of life that was there even when it was frozen.

When the branch-crossed sky of his dream faded, it became pitch-black. He could not see the roof of the tent; when he held a hand to his face he could not see it either. For a moment Legolas panicked, thinking he had gone blind; then he told himself it could not be so. He sat up, fumbled his way to the opening, and crawled clumsily outside.

The fire burned, a tiny dot of red in the dark, and shimmered faintly in the frost on the ground. Legolas let his breath out.

But it was still quiet. The guards were alert, staring into the dark.

"What's happening?" Legolas whispered.

Maidh looked unusually serious. "We don't know."

The darkness was so thick it was almost tangible. The fire was the only light; the sky was hidden behind crossed branches, where in the evening stars had been visible between them. The air had a cold, metallic taste to it, and it was hard to breath. And in the dark, branches creaked and moaned even though there was no wind, and they had a mournful and eerie sound. The rain clattered on brittle leaves like claws clicking against bark.

Legolas moved closer to the fire.

Other elves were waking too. The sudden abscence of tree-voices, and the stillness of the earth, woke them just like it had woken Legolas. They came out of their tents and stared at the creaking trees, and for a while no one uttered a word.

When someone actually spoke, they were all startled; Laeros had not said a word during the entire journey until then. His voice was hoarse and broken, and he swayed a little where he stood by the fire, arms wrapped tight around his skinny frame, as if the darkness was so heavy on him he almost bent under it.

"What did you say?" Tinuhen asked.

Laeros took his gaze from the forest and fixed it on Tinuhen.

"It is here", he repeated. "It has crossed the border."

"What has?"

"The Shadow", Laeros said.

The other elves stared at him, and winter seemed to grasp their hearts. The trees moaned as if to say that it was true. The fire flickered, fighting the darkness.

"What does that mean?" Maidh asked, but Laeros did not anwer.

"The Elvenking holds the border", one of the healers said. "If the border fails that must mean... there must be a reason the border fails, mustn't it?"

It was not very cold, but Legolas began to shiver. He wrapped his arms about him much like Laeros did, as if that was the only way to keep his own warmth from seepping out.

"It is no good to speculate", Beren said. "Tomorrow we'll meet Radagast. Maybe he knows more."

"It's probably nothing, right?" said Hethulin. "Nothing we can't handle anyway."

Beren looked doubtful, but the other warriors nodded. Legolas thought that if they believed they could handle it, it was probably true. They were warriors after all.

They did not sleep much more that night. Instead, they sat around the fire with their backs to the shadows and tried to talk about happier things. They told stupid jokes and played pointless games, and the warriors kept their weapons close even though there was nothing there they could fight.

On the morrow they broke camp early. They took down the tents before there was even a hint of light between the branches over their heads, then ate a swift breakfast and set off. It was cold and air was very still. Slowly the forest turned grey, a dark hazy kind of grey that seemed to be the closest to daylight the shadow-wood had.

They rode in silence now. Tinuhen sent scouts to survey the road ahead, and the warriors kept their weapons ready and their eyes wide open. Greenwood felt like a different world; different and eerie. Branches creaked and moved seemingly without reason. Their roots wriggled pale and worm-like over the road, and sometimes they trapped the horses' hooves and caused them to nervously dance away. The travellers were all so tense they jumped at every movement and every sound.

But when Legolas glanced over his shoulder he saw Laeros sit up and look out of the wagon over the driver's shoulder. There was something different about him; not like he was better, but like something had snapped back in place - the instinct to survive maybe.

The warriors had closed tight ranks around Legolas, and he could not see very much, but he did not want to either. The day went by in tense silence. At last they stopped at the eastern side of a broad stream, over which an old stone bridge span.

"Here is where we'll meet Radagast", Tinuhen said. "I suggest we just sit down and wait until he - "

"No need", came a familiar voice, and out of shadows of the opposite bank stepped a lean figure in a long robe. All at once the travellers straightened their backs and even the horses relaxed a little. Radagast had that effect on beasts and wood-elves alike.

Now he walked over the stone bridge, tall as a young tree and with bear moss growing in his beard. He had so many patches sewn to his robe it was hard to tell which hue and texture it had had in the beginning. But under his mossy hat and green-tinted eyebrows, Radagast's eyes were bright and clear as the sky. He was leading a sturdy grey horse loaded with gear.

"It is bad", he said, and when he came closer they could all see how worried he looked. "It is very bad, my friends."

"The Shadow, you mean?" Tinuhen asked. He had never liked Radagast much, maybe beause he lived in a ramshackle tower and had a bird's nest under his hat.

"Not in itself", Radagast said. "No, not the Shadow in itself."

Tinuhen sighed.

Sometimes Radagast reminded Legolas very much of the trees - especially the great oaks, and old willow-by-the-water. Even when he had something important to say, and even though he used very few words when he could, it often took him a long time to say things. It was as though he was so old he was never out of time. Or maybe he was like the trees and did not count time at all; merely watched the seasons pass without ever wondering when spring would come or how many days till Midsummer.

But Legolas had never seen the wizard quite this grave.

"It is the Elvenking", Radagast said. "I heard it from a sparrow, I did. The sparrow heard it from - nevermind - it is the Elvenking. Your father, my prince. I do not know the details, but - "

"By Elbereth, wizard, what happened to father?" Tinuhen burst out, and his voice rose in fear. "Is he ill?"

"Injured." Radagast leaned on his knotty staff. "The Elvenking is injured. As far as I know, he was out riding, a few miles from the Mountain. There he was attacked by orcs. There was a battle, and the Elvenking took a sword-cut to the side, but that is not all. The wound made him ill. I do not know if it was poison, or something else."

Legolas dug his fingers into Amlûgs mane and shut his eyes tight. When he looked again, it would not be real. When he looked again, it would only be a nightmare.

"What do you mean something else?" It was Beren who asked, for Tinuhen had gone very quiet.

"No orcs could come so close to the Mountain unseen", Radagast replied. "Not without help. There is something more at work here than a mere skirmish. But I do not want to speculate too much yet."

Tinuhen found his voice again. "What - what will you do?"

"I will ride to the Mountain and give whatever aid I can. I can ride swiftly on my own, and hopefully catch up with you on the road. If I don't..."

"But we'll go home, right?" Legolas said. "We'll go back to the Mountain! If father is wounded..."

"My child", Radagast said and turned to him for the first time. "Listen..."

Legolas stared at him wide-eyed. "We can't go on. You can't mean that. I am going back!" He looked at Tinuhen. "Won't we go back?"

Tinuhen glanced at Beren uncertainly, and Beren shook his head.

"Legolas", Tinuhen said, then licked his lips and didn't seem to know what to say. "You see... we have to go on. As far as we know father doesn't have to be badly wounded. Maybe he just has a fever, and it will be over soon. Our mission, it's much more important."

"More important than father?"

"We've been on the road for eleven days. By the time we get back to the Mountain father will be well again and we'll have turned for no reason."

"You don't know that", Legolas said. "Not if it was _something else_ than poison."

Tinuhen's eyes flickered towards Beren again.

"Listen, Legolas... uh..." He hesitated, then lowered his voice so that the only one who could possibly hear was Radagast. "Mother told you about - about the meeting, did she not? The meeting that I will attend at Midwinter's Eve. We are already late, we have very little margins if anything happens that delays us. There is no time for us to turn back to the Mountain and then turn again for Rivendell. And that meeting may just be the only hope that Greenwood has right now. Now you have seen the Shadow, what it does, how easily it spreads. Our border was very strong, but the Shadow breached it."

"But if we don't arrive in time, won't lord Elrond wait for us?"

Tinuhen bit his lip and leaned closer. "That is the problem, Legolas. You see - you must not tell anyone this. Everything about these meetings is very, very secret. Until this summer, mother and father did not know about them either, but Mith - Gandalf told them, because Gandalf thought they ought to be there." Tinuhen looked over his shoulder. "Gandalf did not tell anyone but Radagast about it, because then maybe they would stop us from joining. Lord Elrond will not be expecting us. Our hope is to turn up unexpectedly, so that they have no choice but to let me join. No one will be expecting us but Gandalf and Radagast, and Radagast will be here, and I dare not hope that Gandalf can persuade the others to wait."

"Who are the others?"

"That does not matter. Do you understand why we have to go on? Father would want us to. That was the last thing he told me, Legolas. Whatever happens, Tinuhen, you must reach Rivendell in time, he said. And I will."

Legolas bit his lip. "Then you can go on, and I can go back."

"I cannot spare enough warriors to give you a safe journey home."

"I'll go with Radagast!"

Tinuhen shook his head. "Radagast will ride much swifter if he hasn't got anyone else to mind. Legolas, listen to me, we have no choice but go on. You promised to help, did you not?"

Legolas looked from Tinuhen to Radagast and then up at Beren, but no one yielded. His eyes began to burn. He blinked hard and swallowed. "I did."

"I must go at once", Radagast said. "I will send you a message as soon as I know more."

"I wish you a safe journey", Tinuhen said.

"Wish me rather a swift one. Good luck, my prince."

A quaver rose from Legolas belly, up through his fluttering heart and into his throat, choking him. He shuddered. He was not going to cry.

Tinuhen reached out a hand for him. Then he hesitated and let it fall. Hethulin steered her horse past his and wrapped Legolas in her arms.

"It'll be alright, little leaf", she said and stroke his hair. "It'll all be fine."

The trees sighed mournfully, the stream whispered, and outside the shadow-wood a light snow began to fall; inside it, one by one, the snow-flakes found their way to the ground below the twisted branches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to everyone who has commented, and to tumblr user queen-aragorn for proof-reading. Please leave a comment, it means so much to me!  
> (sorry to any sindarin geek for my extremely limited elvish)


	6. Come what may

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning - a part of this chapter is rather gory and a bit graphic. If you're sensitive you'll want to be careful.

When the guards carried her father into the Hall of Trees, Merilin knew that nothing would ever be the same.

She flew up from her chair and did not even notice that her embroidery fell from her lap. The floor was all wet from the snow that people had been dragging in from the courtyard - heaps of new-fallen snow, white and pure and quick to melt - the embroidery would be ruined. Merilin did not think about it, not for a moment.

"Make way!" the guards cried, and people turned and stared at them and the elf on the stretcher they carried. "Somebody alert the healers - get people down on the courtyard - we've got more wounded, get stretchers down there!"

"What happened?" Merilin asked hoarsely. "Where's my mother?"

"There was an attack, my lady", the guards said. "The Elvenqueen is still at the courtyard."

Merilin looked down at the elf on the stretcher. Blood stained his grey riding garb and the cloth of the makeshift stretcher. Sweat beaded his pale face. His hands were clenched into fists. His lips were bitten bloody.

It could not be her father. But when they carried him away, Merilin's stomach wrenched as if it was.

Elves milled into the Hall of Trees. Nibennel, who led the guard in Beren's abscense, shouted at them to return to whatever they had been doing or make themselves useful. Someone ran upstairs to the mending wing. Two more guards walked inside, supporting a third, who was bleeding badly from the shoulder. To the women at the high table, no one paid any attention.

Taith bent down and picked up the embroidery. Nelladell laid her hands on Merilin's shoulders and pressed her down in the chair.

"Worry not, Merilin, I am sure he will be all right."

"Did you not see him?"

"Merilin", said Taith calmly. "What was it we talked about again? Ah, yes, that fabric from Lothlorien. I wish we had more of the blue one."

"Fabric", said Merilin.

"Yes, the one with feathers."

"Taith, did you see my father? Did you see him? And he is the Elvenking! Yavanna watch over us - and where are his other guards? - how could anything - "

"Where are you going?"

"Stay here", Merilin said and stumbled down the dais.

They had chosen to sit in the Hall of Trees because it was pleasant to be around people, even if most people here at this time where those who tended the hall - no bold hunters or gallant palace guards - but now Merilin wished it had been all empty. The elves stared and whispered and she had to shove her way past them, down the stair.

Mother stood in the snowfall at the foot of the stair. She had blood down the side of her dress, and in her long unruly braids, and her leather jerkin was torn, though she had not taken it off. Galion stood with her, pale but calm, and held her weapons. Around them the courtyard was a mess of frightened horses, wounded guards and elves who tried to help them. People came down the stair with stretchers; someone was crying out a name, again and again, over a body that lay still on the ground.

"I saw father", Merilin said weakly. "What happened? Mother, what happened?"

"Go inside, Merilin."

"I want to know!"

Mother sighed. Galion walked up the stair and took Merilin by the arm.

"Easy now, my lady", Galion said, and only then did Merilin realize that she was shaking. She willed herself to stop, but her body did not obey.

"It was orcs", mother said. "From straight out of nowhere. It was by sheer luck we escaped, and the Elvenking - "

"But the trees! Why did the trees not warn you?"

"They couldn't. Something stopped them. Something..."

"What about father? He's wounded."

"He is, but not so badly."

"I saw him!"

"Merilin", Galion said. "Do not upset yourself. Thranduil was awake and conscious when we came through the Doors. We escaped narrowly, but we are all here now, and your father is up in the mending hall, and all will be fine. Let me take you inside.

Merilin was not strong enough to protest. She felt like she might go sick, but at the same time she felt like she was not there at all; like she was only watching another Merilin, who stumbled up the stairs with Galion took her hand.

Taith met them halfway, and took over.

"Just stay calm now, Merilin", she said and gathered her silk skirts as they walked over the snowy threshold. "Let us go to my chambers. Nelladell will be there in a minute. She will bring out embroideries-"

"I need to see father."

"Not now, Merilin, the menders must see to him first."

"I am not going to talk about fabrics", Merilin said. "I'm not."

"Then we won't talk about fabrics", said Taith and pulled Merilin through the Hall of Trees. They took the right tunnel, even though it was further away from Taith's chambers, because the left one led to the mending wing and was crowded with elves, wounded or helping wounded. The smell of blood seemed to seep through all the corridors. There was no escaping it.

"Orcs", Merilin said weakly. "But if the trees were silent - no, Taith, it must have been something more, something more than orcs. What if father..."

"Mind the steps there, Merilin, that's a good girl."

"Taith", Merilin said and leaned so heavily on her friend she was afraid that she would fall; but Taith was stronger than she looked. "I want to talk about fabrics."

"All right", Taith said. "That blue one from Lothlorien, remember? With feathers."

* * *

It was dark by the time Merilin was allowed to see father. Taith and Nelladell followed her to the mending wing, but it was so crowded in there they had to turn on the doorstep. Out of twenty-five guards no one was completely unharmed, though only seven were badly wounded. Two had not made it through the Doors. One they had lost in the afternoon.

"Your father's state is... stabile, at the moment", the mender said when he led her to her father's room. "He has not lost very much blood, and the wound should heal quickly enough. We found no signs of poison."

"Do you think I am blind?" Merilin snapped. "I saw him when they carried inside. That was not _stabile_."

The mender wrung his hands.

Merilin stopped dead, outside a room where a young warrior gritted her teeth as the menders set the bones in her broken leg.

"What is it you're not telling me?"

"No signs of poison", said the mender quietly, as if he was afraid to be overheard, "but something... something else. I cannot explain. Please come, my lady."

Father lay atop a large ash-wood bed - ash for strength, and swift recovery - under three thick wool blankets, and a fire roared and made the room so hot the windows glazed over. His eyes were closed. Merilin thought he looked old.

"Why is it so hot?" she asked. "Father is already sweating."

At that, mother lifted her head. She sat in a chair by father's side, still in her blood-stained riding dress. Her right hand was bandaged and she had a cut over her nose, but other than that she was unharmed.

"There you are. What took you so long?"

"The heat", Merilin said. "Is it really good?"

Mother lowered her gaze. She laid her good hand on top of father's, then looked up at Merilin. "The menders does not know what is wrong, Merilin, but father is not... not well."

Confusedly, Merilin walked over to the bed and moved to touch her father's hand; but she did not even need to touch him to feel the cold. Father was freezing. Sweat beaded his face, but he was so cold she shivered.

"What is this?"

"Sorcery", mother said. The mender began to protest, but mother shot him a dark look and said: "And what else would it be? Not poison, you say. Not fever. Not shock. So, sorcery."

"Sorcery", Merilin replied. "Can orcs..."

"Not as far as I know", mother said, and what she did not know about orcs, no one knew. "He was struck by an orc, but that, we believe, is the weapon it used. At least part of it."

She pointed to something on the bedside table. It was a sword-hilt - a fair piece, truly, with a black gem inlaid in silver vines at the pommel; but the silver was splotched black with age, and the gem shone dully in the glow of the oil-lamp. The blade was cut clean off, and nowhere to be seen.

"Do not touch it", mother said. "We do not know what it is."

"What happened to it?"

"I know not. I found it whole after the attack, but when I picked it up it simply drifted from her hand - like it was made of dust. This is all that is left."

Merilin shivered and turned her back on the sword-hilt; but even so she felt it watching her.

The mender left them, and Merilin sank down in an empty chair and felt like all her strength had left her. Mother twisted her bracelet around her wrist, round and round, and her eyes were as cold and sharp as arrowtips. Suddenly Merilin feared that she would do something dangerous, that she would ride for revenge, and it filled her with such terror she forgot how to breath. She forced herself to calm down. Mother was wiser than that.

"What are - what will - where are the orcs now?"

"I sent out elves to scout", mother replied wearily, "but I doubt they'll dare to come closer to the Mountain."

"Are there any elves still out there?"

"Only hunters, and I think they'll be fine. Then there are the elves by the Forest Road."

Merilin went cold. "And Tinuhen, mother. Tinuhen and Legolas!"

"Yes. We cannot do anything for them."

"They must be warned!"

"I have sent a message to Radagast. Hopefully it will reach him, but if we cannot trust the trees - "

" _Ai Elbereth!_ What if..."

"Merilin", mother said. " _What if_ is the last thing I want to hear."

They fell silent. The oil lamps glowed softly; the snow whirled past the window outside, slowly and quietly. Now and then father stirred, but he never once opened his eyes.

Mother picked up a damp cloth and pressed it gently to father's forehead, sucking up the beads of sweat that shimmered in his eyebrows. He was so pale. One could almost see right through him.

"We will hold a council", mother said. "We must know how those orcs could come so close to us, and what exactly this wound is. Merilin, now that both father and Tinuhen is gone, you need to take more responsibility. You must be brave now, for Greenwood."

"I am not brave."

"You must be", mother said. "We all must." She laid the cloth aside and fixed her gaze on Merilin. "Greenwood needs our strength. These are dark times. I want you to be prepared, for there will be no room for hesitation once the council is due. This may be over quickly, or it may be the start of a war. You must be prepared for either."

"Uh..."

"Come now. You're more than half a millennia old. Did you expect you'd never go to war?"

"Is that so much to ask for?"

Mother softened. She must be half-mad with worry, Merilin thought; mother never was stern.

"We're in Greenwood", she said, "in the Wild. There is no room for fear here. We're fighters, hey? So are you, deep down. I'm sure of it."

"I don't want to be one."

Mother sighed and turned away. Father moaned in his sleep, drew his eyebrows together in pain or fear.

Nothing would ever be the same. Or maybe it had always been like this, cruel and dark and frightening, and the world were fabrics and ribbons and shoes mattered had never truly existed.

* * *

The snowfall thickened, though down in the shadow-wood only a little part of it found its way to the ground. At first, they rode on like there was no snow, all anxious and tense, but after a while they started to find joy in it. When they stopped to pitch a camp, Beren had to roar at some of the guards to stop them from shoving snow down each other's collars. Legolas wished they could have went on, because he preferred watching them to thinking about father, wounded and maybe poisoned, or something else.

The message from Radagast did not arrive that night, nor the day after.

"It takes time to get to the Mountain", Beren said. "Remember we've been travelling for eleven days now. Radagast won't even be halfway yet."

"He's a wizard!"

"So he is, but can he fly for that? No. You wait and see, little leaf. We will hear from Radagast in time."

The next night they slept in another elven settlement, and the elves there told them some about the shadow-wood. Before it breached the border, they had sometimes ventured into the Shadow to hunt or gather wood.

"Trust nothing", they said, "not your eyes, not your ears, not even your fingers. And don't stray from the road. You may think you'll find it again, but you take five steps away from it, and you could as well have walked for half a mile."

"What is that?" Hethulin asked suddenly and pointed into the dark.

"Ghost!" Legolas said, and it truly looked like one. It was white and gauzy, shimmering in the torch-light, and as broad as Legolas' arms outstretched. The travellers stared at it wide-eyed.

The elves of the shadow-wood bared their teeth. Then one took an arrow from his belt, bound a bundle of hay and cloth around it that he'd had ready in his belt pouch, and lit it on his torch. The fire arrow hit the white veil, and it blazed up and was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Spider web", the elves of the shadow-wood said.

"No way!" said Maidh. "It was too large!"

The elves of the shadow-wood curled their lips in eerie non-smiles.

"Spider webs. You believe it, or you let them kill you."

The settlement had a lot of supplies, and gladly shared it with the travellers - at least they seemed to do it gladly, though it was hard to tell, because they were very sparse with words and smiles.

The next night the travellers camped by a stream that babbled eerily beside them all night as if it laughed at some secret of its own, and it made them so uneasy they drank up half their mead before they went to sleep. Sometime after midnight, Legolas woke because his bladder told him that _ai elbereth it's an emergency hurry up!_ and he could didn't dare to ignore it.

He sat up, quiet as quiet, in the light of the small lantern they kept burning through the nights - it would have been too dark to see anything at all otherwise. But Hethulin slept very lightly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I just need to, uh..."

"I told you not to drink so much mead", Hethulin whispered. "It's not safe out there. Let one of the sentinels follow you."

Legolas groaned.

"Come now, it's not like they're going to look."

"Then it doesn't matter if they follow me, does it? Please, Hethulin, I won't go far. I'll stay in sight of the camp. We've been here for days and nothing's happened!"

"Your brother gave severe orders..."

Legolas sighed. Hethulin rarely took Tinuhen's orders very seriously, but this time she seemed to agree with them.

"Fine. I'll tell one of the sentinels exactly where I'm going, and I'll stay in sight of the camp, and if I'm not back in five minutes you can all go and search for me. Please? I just need to be one my own for a moment. Tinuhen's been on me all the time."

Hethulin sighed. She gave him a glance that very clearly said he had himself to blame, but at the same time she seemed to take pity on him. It was not like Tinuhen was ever in a good mood around Legolas, whether his little brother had done anything or not.

"Very well", she said finally. "Five minutes and no more. I will know it if you don't obey."

Legolas swept himself in his cloak and crawled out of the tent. The stream babbled on somewhere in the dark. When he looked up he could see no difference between branches and sky above his head, expect where the sparks from the fire rose towards it, born on a harsh north wind.

"To that tree and no further", one of the sentinels said and pointed into the dark.

"I promise", Legolas said, having no idea of what tree it was.

He felt a slight tinge of fear when the fire was behind him and darkness wrapped its arms around him, and he hesitated, thinking that maybe he should ask someone to follow him anyway, or perhaps he should just go back into the tent and try to sleep. But pride and his bladder won over his fear of the dark. He walked into the forest like an adventurer into a dragon's lair.

It was when he was on the way back he saw it.

First he thought it was a ghost, or one of those giant spider webs, and he pressed his back to the tree and dared not breath. But it was not a ghost. It was a stag, a small stag whiter than the snow.

Legolas inhaled slowly.

The stag had been as frightened of him as he had been of it. It stood wide-eyed and statue-still with one slender foot in the air and the others lightly touching the moss. Then it set the foot down. A dry leaf shifted under it. The stag blinked once and inclined his head, as if it wanted to say something.

"What do you want?"

The stag turned and walked through a stand of bushes, very slowly. It stopped on the other side and looked back at him.

"Do you want me to follow?"

Legolas glanced towards the camp. Five minutes could not have passed yet. He looked at the trees; they swayed peacefully in a breeze, as if there was nothing dangerous to be found for miles. When he looked at the deer, Legolas felt that it was not evil.

"I'm coming", he whispered and went after it.

They moved soundlessly over leaves and snow, in and out of the trees. Frost-tinted ferns stroke against Legolas' bare legs, and wet leaves clung to the soles of his feet. A thorny branch caught his cloak. The stag waited patiently a few paces away while he freed it.

Another stream came floating through the ferns, carrying a sick smell like water that has been still for long. The stag jumped; Legolas hesitated by the brink before he dared to leap after it. His left foot sank into wet mud with a gurgling splash that rang loud and sharp through the forest.

He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone seemed to have heard. There was only darkness. The camp-fire was long gone behind him.

He suddenly felt very small.

"Is it far now?" he asked the stag, and even his voice sounded tiny in the great silence of the forest night. In answer, the stag inclined its graceful head towards the bushes on top of the brink. Glad he would be able to go back soon, Legolas hurried towards it.

He staggered back with a cry.

Something lay dead behind the thorny bushes. Long dead.

It had once been a horse.

Legolas felt his stomach turn, but nothing came up. Flies lifted in a buzzing swarm from the dead horse and under them, white and glistening, worms crawled on top of each other through the rotting flesh and over white bones. The horse's tangled mane was spread out like a fan over the leaves. It seemed to look at him with one worm-eaten eye.

Legolas swallowed. He shut his eyes tight.

Then he opened them again and warily looked around. Bodies attracted predators. Mother had told him countless times never to approach without being prepared. But he heard and saw nothing, and the trees were still calm.

The stag walked around the dead horse, looked at something on the ground behind it, and looked back up at Legolas.

Legolas wanted to run back to the camp and never think of this again, but he could not do that, not if the stag had brought him here for a reason. Without looking at the horse, without wondering what its name was or where it came from or it it had other horse friends somewhere that missed it now, Legolas walked after the stag.

Something lay on the ground partly under the horse, and this time Legolas did vomit.

The elf lay on its belly, with his head turned to the side, and his arms brought up as if to ease a hard landing. Legolas saw empty eye sockets and a half-eaten jaw; eggs about to hatch in the side of the face that rested on the ground. He saw snowy white tresses glowing almost as white as the stag, and a leather strap painstakingly embroidered with red and blue thread about to slip off the rotting brow. The elf's legs were stuck beneath the horse. Two arrows potruded from his back.

And Legolas knew who it was. That snowy hair could not be mistaken.

He looked at the stag.

"Take me back to the camp. My brother must see this. Hurry!"

It set off, Legolas dashing after it through the dark. He wanted to wake up and see it was all a dream, or to crawl back into the tent and pretrend it had never happened, but he knew what he had to do. When the fire emerged from the dark the stag stood to the side and Legolas went on without it. People were calling over at the camp. Tinuhen was just coming out of his tent.

"Tinuhen! There's something you must - "

Beren grabbed him by the elbow. "Yavanna have pity on you, child, where have you been? Did you not promise - "

"I know", Legolas tried, "but there's something - "

"I thought you had more sense", Beren said and shook him. "After everything you have heard, everything you have seen, everything you have been taught - "

"I know!" Legolas said. "I didn't mean to make anyone worried! Look, I've found something, something very important and you have to come with me..."

"The only thing I have to do is make sure you get into your tent and stay there", Beren hissed. "To think that you..."

"I've found Tuiw!"

Beren went quiet. Everybody did.

"I've found Tuiw", Legolas said again. "He's dead."

It took all of Beren's authority to keep the camp calm after that. Everyone wanted to see for themselves, but Beren decided that only him, Tinuhen, and four warriors would follow Legolas back to the body, and the rest would stay in camp, ready to depart or fight or whatever orders they might recieve.

They brought several torches, and the stag kept well away from them, weaving in and out of the trees. Now and then its eyes glinted in the light. Mists rose from the stream and hid the shape of the dead horse even from the torch-light.

"There", Legolas said and pointed. He did not want see it again.

Hethulin squeezed his shoulder before she left him to look at the body. He heard her gasp. He sank down in the damp grass, pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to stop shivering.

"This is the proof", he heard Tinuhen say, though even his brother sounded smaller than usual. "It's the proof, Beren! The arrows! Tuiw was murdered - someone knew Tuiw was taking Mithrandir's message to the Elven King and Queen, and -"

"My prince", Beren said hastily. "Not here."

The elves talked a while in low voices, and at last Tinuhen and Beren agreed to send two riders back to the nearest settlement, and from there send a message with a bird, since the birds of the shadow-wood were friends with the elves there. One of the warriors wanted Tuiw to be sent back to the Mountain, because he and Tuiw had known each other, and he didn't want to leave him here, but Beren said they could not spare enough warriors for a safe journey back. He would not let the elf cover Tuiw with his cloak either. They'd need the cloaks, he said, but they could spare a blanket. Then he ordered them all to go back.

Legolas wanted to ask what the arrows were proof for and what they meant, and he was thinking that maybe he could say that since he had found Tuiw he had a right to know - but when they got back to camp Tinuhen gave him a glance that very clearly said he should ask absolutely nothing at all for the whole night, and maybe not for the rest of the week, and preferably not ever in his life either.

"You", he said, "will go straight to your tent and stay there until I say you can leave, and if I hear anything more of you sneaking away - "

"It was the stag! If I had not followed it - "

"You could have been killed!" Tinuhen burst out. "You could have ended up like Tuiw! Or you could have got lost, and have all of us risk our lives searching for you in the dark. I have told you since we started this journey - mother and father has told you to do as I say and never ever stray from the camp! Don't you care what they say? Do you think you know better?"

"But the stag..."

Tinuhen slapped him.

Then he seemed shocked he had done it. He stood with his hand in the air as if it stung, and Legolas hoped it did.

"This isn't the Greenwood you're used to", he said. "You knew nothing about that deer. There are dark things in this forest and they're not always literary dark, do you understand? It could have been something evil..."

Legolas rubbed his cheek and glared at Tinuhen. "It wasn't. I knew it wasn't, I could sense it!"

"And of course your senses cannot be wrong? If you sense anything it must be right, must it?"

"I'm a wood-elf..."

"I'll tell you what you are", Tinuhen said. "You're a foolish, spoilt child and you think you know everything about Greenwood because Ninniach thought you were like mother, but you know nothing - nothing of the Shadow, nothing of the trees, nothing of the world. If you don't learn that soon, this journey will be the end of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment - it doesn't have to be long and elaborate, I appreciate just a 'hello' :)


	7. Open Sky

Legolas spent that miserable night alone in the tent, while the others sat outside and talked until dawn broke. Then Beren sent two riders away to the nearest elven settlement, and the others waited in the camp until they returned by noon. The elves of the shadow-wood would take care of Tuiw's body, they said, and if possible they would send word to the Mountain. But the trees were unusually quiet and the birds were anxious. The shadow-wood elves didn't know why, but they didn't like it.

It was almost noon when they set off and Legolas had not spoken a single word all day, but before they left the camp he turned to Tinuhen, because there was something he had to know.

"Did you give Tuiw a blanket?"

Tinuhen did not even turn to look at him, but he nodded shortly.

"What about his horse?"

"No."

That seemed unfair. Against better knowledge, Legolas begun to ask why - but Hethulin pulled him aside and whispered:

"It's getting cold and we can't spare too many blankets. The horse will be fine. It doesn't need blankets where it is now."

As they rode away, a light snow fell, and Legolas stared at Amlûg's neck and tried to find comfort in the familiar rise and fall of his steps. There was nothing else he could do. Neither lunchtime nor afternoon nor evening would make Tinuhen any less angry with him or the rest of the company any happier. Tuiw's death had taken what little optimism they had left after Radagast's tidings. Not even Maidh had told a joke since last night.

When they stopped to camp that night, the snow had turned to a drizzle and then frozen to hail, and it took over half an hour to get a fire burning steadily. The trees here consisted mostly of spruce and provided little shelter, so everyone who could crawled into their tents and huddled at the openings so they could speak to each other, while the cooks and sentinels eyed them with envy. Tinuhen was still angry and Legolas could not stand to be near him, so he helped rubbing the horses down and then he stayed with Amlûg while the hail drummed on the hood of his cloak and the grey of the forest slowly turned to black again. At least Amlûg was not angry, and not miserable either. He was warm and calm and homely and if there was one thing that was good with this journey it was that Legolas had come to know him better, because he had never been very fond of riding before.

When they ate - porridge this time; Beren wanted to spare their last bread and meat before they got to the mountains - Tinuhen said that this would be their last night in the forest. Legolas dared to ask what would come next. Tinuhen actually smiled at him.

"Nothing you have ever seen before", he said. "And if I described it to you you would not understand."

"The Misty Mountains?"

"You will see", was all Tinuhen would say.

Legolas could not sleep that night. He thought about Lake-town and what it had looked like, but all around the shore there had been plenty of trees, or fields surrounded by trees, or at least by grooves and copses and large bushes. The Lonely Mountain had been visible, pale blue against the horizon, but they had not gone near it.

But if they neared the Misty Mountains, they would soon get out of the forest - and he had never paid enough attention to his geography lessons to remember what came next. He thought it might be a place without trees. As he lay in the tent and looked up at the dark hide roof, Legolas tried to picture a place without trees - but he could not imagine it. He dreamt that he walked in a desert, but the next morning he had forgotten what it looked like.

The following day they left earlier than usual. Everyone was excited to see the end of the forest, though all in their own way - Hethulin was nervous, Tulus tense and quiet, Naru beaming with apprehension and Tinuhen excited but reserved. When they stopped briefly for lunch, all were deep in their own thoughts.

Hours later, a spot of light appeared in front of them, and it was not the light of a fire, and it was not just a ray of sunlight on the road.

Legolas reined Amlûg in. "Is that..."

"It is", Tinuhen said. "The edge of Greenwood the Great."

Legolas wanted to set off towards in in a gallopp, and he wanted to turn back the way he had come. Tinuhen took Amlûgs reins and said: "Easy now, we're not there yet."

The spot of light grew larger as they rode. Once the road bent and the light vanished between the trees; then it appeared again, much closer. It took the shape of an uneven arch, framed with naked branches. Something moved behind it; tall winter grasses tinted with frost. The ground billowed up and down in hills and valleys. A wind blew strong over the pale lands.

Legolas stopped, heart pounding. Suddenly there was grass beneath him, and sky above. The grass - it stretched as far as he could see, rising and falling and waving in the wind, and there were dry flower-stalks in it and some bushes but no trees, not a single tree, just grass and grass and grass. Where it vanished, something blue and massive loomed, not the sky, but mountains, larger than anything he could have imagined.

And the sky - Elbereth, he had never thought the sky could look so big and so far away. Pale wintry blue it started down by a distant horizon to the north, and arched over Greenwood and ended so far south Legolas hardly dared to think about it. He got dizzy only from looking up. But looking forward was not much better; there was so much nothing, so much empty space with no tree-voices and no branches and no life. He would never go out there. No one could make him go out there. There was nowhere to hide.

"Impressive, is it not?" Tinuhen said. He had stayed with Legolas and a couple of other elves in the forest edge - some of them had never seen this either. "To think some people live here."

"They do?"

"Of course! Men live anywhere there is space. There used to be more of them though, before they moved south. Come along now. You cannot stand here all day."

Legolas did not move.

"Come on", Tinuhen said, "you have not even been out there yet."

"I don't want to be out there!"

"You are like a caterpillar", said Tinuhen, "who does not want to get out of your cocoon. Do you not think they feel just like this? The cocoon is safe and they want to stay there. But they have to leave it, and when they do, they find that the world outside is a wonderful place, and not as scary as it may seem at first."

"I'm not a caterpillar", Legolas protested. "And Greenwood's not a cocoon."

Before Tinuhen could answer, Maidh rode up behind them, glowing with excitement.

"Finally!" he said. "Come, my princes, lets race down the hill!"

"You go", Tinuhen said. "My brother needs some coercion yet."

"Wait for me, Maidh!" Hethulin cried, gathering her courage, and they leaned forward over their horses' necks and set off into the blinding light, hollering with joy as the wind caught them. Amlûg side-stepped eagerly, his muscles taunt and shivering. Legolas took a deep breath. Then, without thinking, he whispered: run!

And Amlûg ran. No, he flew. The forest disappeared and the grass became a yellow blur and Amlûg flew through it, stretched his body out, lengthened his stride, rushed down the hill and onto the next faster than an arrow. There were no trees to dodge, no branches to duck for; nothing, nothing, nothing, expect for the wind that made Legolas' eyes water and caught his hair and stuffed his laughter back into his mouth. He leaned over Amlûgs neck and hid his face in his mane and screamed with joy and fear.

But he forgot about the fear then, when they came over the ridge of the second hill and saw the fields of grass before them again, and the sky, even greater now that they had left the forest behind. Birds crossed it, swift and strong-winged. The dead flower-stalks rustled softly against each other, remembering summers past when the hills bloomed and bees buzzed in the thorn bushes. This was not nothing. It was not Greenwood, but it was something, and there was life.

Legolas reined Amlûg in on top of the hill and let him catch his breath. Maidh and Hethulin and some others were already far ahead, but he wanted to stay and look because he could see to the end of the world from here. Tinuhen soon caught up with him. Even he was flushed from the ride and he was smiling.

"Well", he said, "what did I say?"

Legolas grinned at him devilishly. "You said I was a caterpillar. You were wrong."

Then he let Amlûg decide the pace again, and they raced down the hill with Tinuhen close behind, into the valley, and to the west.

* * *

 

The long journey had taken its toll on both elves and horses, so Tinuhen decided they should stay in the forest edge for the rest of the day, and set off the next morning.

They rode some ways north, not more than a mile, and found the very edge of the Shadow. Deep and dark the forest loomed behind them; grey and sad, but not entirely quiet, stood the trees where they set up camp. But they still had their voices, and the elves spent half the day walking the grasslands and admiring the view, and half the day under the trees, taking farewell. They kept to themselves, excited and sad at the same time.

Evening came - not the swift, pitch-black evening of the shadow-wood, but a sunset that turned the grasslands to gold and set the Misty Mountains on fire. When the shadows were long over the grasslands and the warmth had gone out of the air, Beren and Tinuhen gathered them around the fire.

"We have been on the road now for eighteen days", Tinuhen said. "If we are lucky, we have only three left."

A long silence followed those words. After all the time they had spent travelling it felt strange to be so near the end.

"That means we are almost a month ahead of our time", Tinuhen went on, "but we could not have predicted that the journey would run so smoothly all the time."

"We still cannot", said Beren. "Three days, at the least, is what it will take us to travel the High Pass, but if the snows have been too heavy in the mountains we will have to turn south for the Dimrill Stair, or even the Redhorn Pass. That is a long road."

"Isn't the Redhorn Pass where lady Celebrían was assaulted?" Hethulin asked.

"It is, and though it is safer now than two years ago we will only take that road if we have no other choice. There is another pass as well - but we will discuss that if the need arises."

Tinuhen nodded. "When we reach the mountains - tomorrow - there will be no fooling around or loitering and no... straying from camp." He looked at everyone when he said it, but Legolas knew it was aimed at him. "What we have been through until now is nothing compared to the mountains. It is not only the snow and the terrain, it is also orcs and goblins and wargs - and the giants."

"Really, my prince", Hethulin said, "do you think we can't manage the mountains? I think we handled ourselves perfectly well in the shadow-wood."

The other warriors began to agree, but Beren said: "Did you? Really?" Something in his tone made them all fall silent.

"I had to tell you over and over again to never go in smaller groups than five if you needed to leave camp", Beren went on. " You fell asleep on your watches, neglected your weapons, and lit fires even when it was not safe. Hethulin let Legolas leave his tent against strict orders. Tulus wasted all his arrows on squirrells. Not more than five minutes after we saw a spider web, Maidh was about to leave the path to chase after a deer."

Everyone was too shocked to speak, and stared at the ground or in their laps. Even Tinuhen looked worried that Beren might say something about him - but he didn't, of course, because Tinuhen always followed the rules.

"It is just as well you face it", Beren said. "You only made it because nothing actually happened. You are all untried and inexperienced, and you have behaved as if you had no concern at all for your lives or our mission. When we reach the mountains, there must be a change. If you let your guard down even for a moment, that might be the end of us all."

The elves remained silent. If Beren had been angry and roared, like Tinuhen had done a hundred times, it would have been another thing - but he was only disappointed, because he had expected more.

Beren looked from on elf to the other, waiting until they had looked back up at him before he turned to the next. Then he said: "There was something else you wanted to say, Tinuhen?"

"Ah... um... yes. Rivendell", Tinuhen said. "Most of you have not been there before, and you will find it quite different from Greenwood. The Noldor will welcome us, of course, and they know how different our customs are, but nevertheless you must pay attention and do as they do. There are several things you need to know before we get there."

The wood-elves frowned and shifted impatiently. No one dared to say anything after what Beren had said, but no one truly listened either. Legolas yawned. The sun was gone, and he had not had much sleep the night before.

Tinuhen droned on about formalities and finery while their dinner cooked over the fire. Suddenly there was a whoosh of wings and as Legolas looked up, a bird of prey circled them, black against the darkening sky.

"It's a sparrowhawk!"

"Do not interrupt me", Tinuhen snapped, but he looked up as well. The sparrowhawk swooped down to sit on a low branch just behind Maidh.

"Whoa! Good eve to you", Maidh said. "Did you want something?"

The sparrowhawk cocked its head to the side, blinked with its large black eyes, and nodded. "Has message from Ragast, yes!" It spoke differently from the birds at home.. "Important message for elf!"

"From Radagast?" Tinuhen said. "Why, then, let us hear!"

Hethulin stretched out her arm so the sparrowhawk could sit down on it, with its claws digging into her bracer.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The sparrowhawk fluffed its feathers importantly. "Is swift to fly, yes, so Quick-wing is name. Now, message. Ragast says, elf not dead, so elves must go on, not worry, Ragast not here yet. You understand?"

"Um", said Hethulin.

"Would you mind take that again, a bit slower?" said Tinuhen.

"Elf-king", Quick-wing said. "You know elf-king in big cave, yes?"

"I know him, he's my father!" Legolas said. "It's not a cave, though."

Quick-wing turned to him. "Then little elf not to worry. Elf-king not dead, but can't fly, no, strange sickness, strange magicks. Ragast try help, then come after little elf. You understand now?"

"I believe I do", said Tinuhen slowly. "The Elvenking is sick, but he's alive, at least. And Radagast says we should go on? Not wait or him?"

"Not wait, no. Must be in time. Quick-wing must fly back to tell you here. You understand?"

"Very well. Then we will go on as planned, and you will tell Radagast that. Are you tired, Quick-wing? We shall get you some food."

Quick-wing spread his wings and sailed down to the ground. The elf nearest the food-wagon brought him some dried meat to him, and another poured the contents of a waterskin into a small bowl. Quick-wing looked up at Tinuhen again.

"Elf-queen says to remind, be cautious. Someone in valley cannot be trusted, yes?"

"Valar, yes!" Tinuhen said. "That reminds me. I was going to tell you all that."

"What?" Legolas said.

Tinuhen waited until everyone paid attention.

"The Elven King and Queen has long suspected there might be someone in Rivendell, or at least someone closely tied to it, that cannot be trusted", he said. "A traitor to all elves and good folk. It has been very difficult to send messages to lord Elrond, and the message Tuiw would have carried was stopped as well."

"Stopped?" Hethulin said. "You mean that was why..."

"We do not know", said Beren before Tinuhen could speak, "and we do not wish to speculate too much, but we must be preapared for anything."

"I don't understand", Legolas said.

"All you have to know", said Tinuhen, "is that we must be very catious when we are in Rivendell. There may be a traitor there, and there may be more than one. This is why we're not travelling, officially, as the princes of Greenwood. We won't hide in Rivendell, of course, but that only means we have to be more careful."

"Indeed", said Beren gravely. "I'm not saying you should not trust the Noldor..."

"We won't, though", said Maidh, "so no worries."

Beren scowled at him. "Very well then. But Tuiw gave his life for Greenwood, and I won't have you waste that away by acting like irresponsible children. I hope I have made myself clear."

* * *

 

When they woke the next morning, the world was changed. Where before there had been grassland, there was now only snow; hills of snow, valleys of snow, and snow-triangles with some pine needles sticking out of them.

They left Greenwood behind and rode down the first hill in a long line. Then they rode up the next, and down in a valley, and onto another hill; and before they knew it, Greenwood was far behind, a darkening line at the horizon that slowly faded to blue. Soon they came to the river Anduin and rode over the ford.

When they came closer to the mountains, their feet turned from hazy blue to grey, and soon the elves could make out trees growing on the slopes, and the clefts and ridges higher up; but where the scarce woods ended the grey became blue again. Not even half-way up, the mountains were shrouded in clouds. Their peaks were hidden from view.

"Look up!" Hethulin said, and they tilted their heads back.

"It's an eagle", Beren said. "It's flying rather low."

"It's not low", said Hethulin. "It's just at level with that cliff up there, see?"

The elves squinted, then drew their breaths.

"That's impossible!"

"I never thought they'd be that big!"

The eagle wheeled round and came to hover, barely moving its great golden wings, far above them. Its shadow covered them all, from Tinuhen at the front to Laeros' wagon at the rear.

"Great Eagle", said Hethulin, awed. "The Kings of every bird in Middle Earth."

"That must be a good sign", said Tinuhen. "They are watching over us."

Not long after that Legolas looked back, and though he had barely noted it was up they went, the grasslands were already below them. Ahead of him the ground sloped up to a climbing forest, up and up and up to where the earth met the sky.

They had come to the feet of the Misty Mountains.

* * *

 

Thranduil walked through dark dreams. He stood on the plain of Dagorlad and dead elves rose from the earth and asked why he had left him there, had he forgotten, were they not his friends?

The trees around him twisted and burnt, crumbling into ashes. The telain hung from dead branches and the orcs from the Black Lands set them afire, felled the mighty oaks and the graceful beeches, and the streams flowed red with blood. The elves that had died outside the Black Gates looked on and asked, was this what we died for? For you to leave our land to die, for you to fail?

No it wasn't, Thranduil tried to say, but his father turned away and Thranduil saw, again, the orcs pull him from his horse into the dust and the scimitars rise and fall. He tried to reach him but again he was too late, and now father was gone and the orcs and the trees and Thranduil walked alone through the dark. He walked over ashes and embers and the fire ate his face away.

And then he was not alone. In the dark something - a sentient - looked at him and laughed at his littleness. Look at you, it said, look at you Thranduil Elvenking. You are the last king. None shall come after you. None shall remember you.

Come to me, the voice said. If you helped me, I would grant you great power. Your realm would be fair again. Your people would not have to suffer.

You fool, his father said, you utter useless fool. Do what he says and save us.

Thranduil wavered, alone again in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter this time - but oh, it's only starting to get exciting! ;)  
> Thank you all for reading this far. There mayb not be a lot of you, but I appreciate each and every one :)


	8. The Misty Mountains

Merilin paced the corridor outside her father's room until it felt so small she could not breath in it. Taith walked with her, an ubreakable ash in the storm.

"Where is Nelladell?"

"Training the younglings, now that Faerdis is injured."

Merilin sighed. "I do not see why we should prepare for war. All we will do is to flee again, itsn't it?"

"I believe so", said Taith, "but we should not be unprepared either. Has your mother talked about fleeing?"

"She does not want to leave the Mountain. It is a stronghold, after all. But if the Shadow comes, we cannot stay here anyway, can we?"

"The Shadow is not here yet", Taith said.

They came to the end of the tunnel, turned, and went back. Now and then the sun found a gap in the clouds and shone through the narrow windows. It had melted some of the snow away, but the night frost kept the ground cool enough for most of it to remain. It was not enough for building forts on the courtyard yet. Merilin wondered if anyone would build snow forts this winter.

The door on top of the stair opened. "My lady? You can come inside."

On mother's orders, father had been moved from the healing ward to the comfort of his own room. That meant mother now slept in a chair beside him, or on the couch in the parlour. When she slept. Merilin did not think she did that very much at all.

Now she sat in the chair to father's right, and Radagast sat beside her with his staff leaning to the mantlepiece. Even in the hall of the wood-elves he looked too much like the forest - as if he had spent a hundred years under a turf of grass, then stood up and walked away without bothering to brush himself off. Merilin had all the correct pleasantries on her tongue - how nice to see you, how are you, did you have a good journey - but Radagast had never been one for pleasantries.

"Merilin", he said. "These are grave times. Thranduil is strong, but I cannot wake him, and I don't know if he can wake on his own."

Merilin nodded, forcing herself to stay calm. She looked over to father, still pale and unmoving under his blankets. He pulled back his cracked lips to bare his gritted teeth. His hands, clenched on top of his chest, had left damp stains of sweat on the blankets.

"What is wrong with him?"

"Hard to tell. I believe his fëa, his spirit, is trapped, and I cannot free him. His own mind keeps him hostage, but his mind is infected by whatever power that sword had. Maybe it will go away with time, and maybe someone must free him, yet I do not have the power. I know only one who has."

"Then shall we send him in a wagon after Laeros?" Merilin asked bitterly. "Or what are we to do? How much time... I mean..."

"He will hold out", mother said. "He will, until we have thought of something."

Merilin picked a small birch leaf from the cover that must have fallen from Radagast's robe. It lay in her palm, yellow and dry with spindly veins.

She crushed it to dust between her fingers. "What will you do, Radagast? You cannot be late for the Council."

"I can ride very swiftly on my own, and take short-cuts wherever it is possible. I shall stay with you for some days more."

"Good", mother said. "We will have a meeting soon, and..."

Merilin turned to her father. Though she knew she would be on that meeting too, it did not seem very important, because she would never be able to provide anything anyway. She knew nothing of wars, or fighting, or orcs, or anything whatsoever that would be useful to them. They would not want her opinion.

If only I was like lady Arwen, she thought. She is brave and beautiful and wise and everything.

But Arwen had lost her mother. No, Merilin did not want to be like her at all.

* * *

The road became a path that became a narrow track, only partly visible beneath pine needles and drifts of snow. It led them up the steep northern side of a valley, away from the quiet, wind-blown trees and in between bare cliffs so high they blocked out the sun.

"Are there orcs in the mountains?" Legolas asked. Pines no larger than shrubbery clung to narrow ledges and cracks in the stone. Rocks were littered all over the ground.

"And goblins", said Beren. "No one can tell for sure how many, for they hide deep in the mountains and can stay there for years if it is unsafe outside. But the rangers and lord Elrond have kept them from the roads for the past years. If there are goblins, they will be higher up."

Legolas looked up and around. Something lay half hidden hidden behind a rock; a cauldron, old and rusted to pieces. He wondered who might have left it there - and why.

"But it's winter now", he said thoughtfully, "and maybe the goblins are out of supplies, because they haven't been able to gather so much during the year, with lord Elrond and the rangers around. What if they are desperate and attack us for our supplies - you know, like wolves may attack an elk when they arestarving?"

Beren lifted an eyebrow. "That's good thinking, and you are quite right. We must be alert. But it is early in the winter and goblins are not known for their foresight. Like wolves don't go for elks until it is a matter of life and death, goblins won't risk an attack on such a large company as ours until it is their only option."

"Are we such a large company to the goblins?"

"We are, because we are well equipped and they are most likely not."

"So if we return late in winter or early in spring, then we must be even more careful? Because that's when they will be starving, and they'll know we've just set out from Rivendell and that our supplies are still full - and maybe we'll be slower, too, with the wagons so heavy..."

Beren smiled. "Right again. You learn quickly."

"I do? Tinuhen says..."

"Tinuhen", Beren said and glanced towards the crown prince, who had ridden ahead of the others along with an elf who knew the mountains. "Tinuhen says an awful lot of things, but, though I don't want to speak ill of him, not all of them are true. Your brother doesn't think you fit to be a commander - he doesn't think you are clever enough, or that you have the authority needed - but I think you are. You have an understanding of how things and people work that Tinuhen doesn't have, Legolas. You see much and you remember it. Authority will come with time. I think you will make a fine commander, one day."

"Really?" Legolas said and felt like he had just been crowned king over all of Middle Earth.

"Really", Beren said almost gravely. "We don't have many scouts in Greenwood these days, expect for our hunters - but if we ever have need for them again I could see you as one, leading archers and skirmishers through trees and shadows, spying on the enemy. That is something Tinuhen could never do."

"I am good at archery!"

"I know, and you can become even better with some practice." Beren beamed at him. "It takes hard training, of course, to be a scout, and even more to be a commander. Tinuhen thinks you aren't determinded enough to remain dedicated when things go against you. You could show him though, couldn't you?"

"I could show him that books aren't everything", Legolas said. "Some things you can only learn from hard work, and some things only the trees can tell you, and only if you listen closely. And I could show him I'll be the best scout Greenwood ever had!"

"I'm sure you will", Beren said. Then Tinuhen returned, and they spoke no more of it.

The road took them high above the valley, and the cliffs surrounding it gave way. To the right the ground sloped steeply down to the foothills, and to the left jarred ridges and broken peaks rose towards the clouds; they could not see where the mountains ended. As they rode on, the sun came out to shine on them. Soon they had to take off their cloaks.

"I think the Misty Mountains are smiling at us", Tinuhen said.

"Let us hope it is not with scorn", said Beren. He had become very quiet.

"Hey!" Naru called suddenly. "Look back!"

The elves turned to look the way they had come, and drew their breaths in unison. The view was clear enough behind them that they could see not only the narrow valley and the clinging forest, not only the foothills and the fields and the river, but Greenwood - naught more than a dark blue line by the horizon. Homesickness caught them. The journey through the forest had taken so long, and now it vanished as swiftly as a leaf down a waterfall.

Legolas steered Amlûg close to the edge and leaned forward, straining to see as far as possible. Beren grabbed the back of his tunic.

"If you fall down there", he said, pointing over the edge and down the deadly fall to the foothills, "we won't find you in one piece. Look ahead."

Afternoon turned to dusk. The last of the way they had to light torches and move slowly along the treacherous path, but eventually the cliffs rose to their right, the ground leveled and they came to a narrow plateau sheltered from the northern wind. But when Beren was about to give the order to set up camp, his voice faltered.

They weren't alone.

A small fire glowed in the dark across the plateau, and shadowy people could be seen sitting around it, or walking between the dark shapes of a number of tents. The fire was flickering and wavering violently. Whoever had lit it had neglected the shelter of the mountainside and set up camp at the far end of the plateau where the cliffs surrounding it were too low to be any protection from the northern wind.

"Maybe they're trolls", Legolas suggested. "They're not so smart, are they?"

"Hardly believable. They are pragmatical", Tinuhen said, as if that settled the matter.

"What's that?"

"They may not be great at chess", Beren explained, "but they know and feel the difference between shelter and no shelter. They are, of course, very hardy. Perhaps they thought that place gave enough shelter."

"They're too small to be trolls", Hethulin said. "And I'd say they move more like elves than orcs. Maybe they're from Rivendell."

"What would they be doing out here, though?" Maidh asked. "The noldor never leave their valley."

"Maybe they're lost", Hethulin said. Tinuhen sent both her and Maidh a withering glance, but they were used to it by now and did not even flinch. Then he told them to go and investigate, and, scowling, they obeyed.

They left with stern faces and their weapons ready in their hands, and there was a long tense wait after the darkness took them and until they appeared again in the torch-light. But when they returned, they looked relaxed.

"Rangers", they said. "We could smell it on the wind halfway there."

The wood-elves weren't afraid of rangers, but not exactly friends with them either. They set up camp on the center of the narrow plateau where they were most sheltered, laughing at the silly Men who for all their knowledge had not got the same idea.

When he had finished his dinner, Legolas filled his bowl with snow, because they had no running water, and set it aside to be washed. Then he stood up, jumped up and down to get some warmth to his toes and said: "I want to talk to the Rangers."

Tinuhen frowned. "You want what?"

"Talk to the Rangers. I've never seen rangers up close. Can I?"

"It is dark", Tinuhen said.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "I can see their fire from here. It's not like I'm going to get lost. And I'm here to learn, am I not? How am I to learn anything about the rangers if I don't..."

"Fine", Tinuhen muttered. "Go straight to them and ask - politely, mind - if you can come close, and then you will go straigth back to us, and if you do not - "

"You kill me, yeah, I get that..."

"One thing more", Tinuhen said, sharply enough that Legolas paused to listen. "The dunedain have always had strong ties to Rivendell. If they ask, Beren is the leader of our company, there is no prince among us, you are Beren's son and your name is not Legolas. Do not follow them anywhere, and not into their tents. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Then go."

There was a layer of thin ice on top of the snow, after the sun melted the topmost cover, and the evening-chill made it freeze over again. When Legolas rounded the cliff the wind caught his wide cloak and made him stumble backwards. He bowed his head against it and almost bumped into a sentinel at the edge of the ranger camp.

"Oh! Hello", he said, and the sentinel flinched and raised it's spear.

"Hey! I'm not an enemy!"

"Who are you?"

"No one you need to poke with that, anyway!"

"I can see that, now." The sentinel lowered the spear and eyed him suspiciously. "You're one of the elves. Come closer, let me look at you."

"I though you saw me", Legolas said and kept an eye on the spear. Even without this traitor in Rivendell, no one in Greenwood trusted the dunedain wholly, and he supposed there was a reason for that.

On closer look the ranger was a young man, at least as far as Legolas could tell - gangling and slender, with dark, shaggy hair that hung in thick tangles around a face that looked like it had been carelessly chiselled out of stone. He did not look very dangerous. When Legolas stood his ground, the man came closer, and as he did so his eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline.

"Why, you're just a kid! I did think you looked small for an elf. Aren't you a bit young to be travelling across the mountains, and at this time of the year?"

"I bet I'm older than you", Legolas said. He had no idea if that would be true, but the man laughed as if he hit right on spot.

"Where are you heading?"

"To Rivendell. We're from Greenwood."

"Then you've come a long way", said the man. "We are on our way to Imladris too. My name is Findel."

"Mine's Legolas", Legolas said, than hastily bit his tongue. That was just the thing he was not supposed to say! Tinuhen was going to be furious.

But Findel only smiled and said: "Ah, you must be named after the young prince, then? His name is Legolas, correct?"

"Um... well yes, it is."

"Are you as old as him?"

"Yes. Almost."

He wondered if it was because of the dark that Findel could not see the embroideries on his tunic or the fine wool of his cloak, or indeed the silver clasp that kept it together. They were plain clothes, of course, the ones Galion had picked out to make Legolas look as normal as possible, but he wouldn't have thought them plain enough to not give him away after he had stated his name. Of course, some princes would have stated their title along with their name from the beginning.

"So", Findel said, "Legolas of Greenwood, why are you gracing our humble camp with your not-princely presence?"

"What?"

"I meant", Findel said, smiling, "what are you doing here? Did you want anything in particular? The scouts your leader sent out earlier weren't very companionable, and we hardly expected to hear anything else from you for the rest of the night. Yet here you stand, companionable indeed."

"Oh. Well, mostly I just wanted to talk. I haven't met rangers before. I mean, face to face."

Findel's eyes narrowed. "Not face to face? You don't happen to be one of those elves hiding in the Greenwood trees, do you? When I was there this summer, we heard them laughing and mocking us all the way from Three Oaks to the Mountain."

"They meant no ill, I promise!"

"What a wood-elf means and what a wood-elf does are often not one and the same thing", Findel said, but then he smiled it away and added: "Come, let's not stand here so far from the fire. I think it's safe for me to leave my post a while. We mostly wanted to make sure you elves weren't planning to steal our provisions or something."

He led Legolas into the camp, where the rangers had now gathered around the fire that burnt between their four weather-worn hide tents. They were singing a song, but it was none that Legolas had ever heard and in their deep, dark voices it sounded very different from elven song. The rangers were stern and strong-looking, with their faces shadowed by deep hoods or hidden behind bushy beards, and they had rough hands and ragged clothes that smelled of sweat and horses and months on the road. But they weren't as unfriendly as they looked. They had Legolas sit down with them and laughed at how he had scared Findel when he first met him.

"I wondered why you were shouting, Findel", one of them said. "I thought you'd run into a bear or something."

"Well, I thought so too for a moment, but - "

The rangers roared with laughter.

"Sorry, kid, we're not laughing at you", they said to Legolas, "but it takes Findel's nerves to mistake an elfling for a bear."

A broad-shouldered man who was almost as tall as Legolas' father poured a small cup of mead and handed it to Legolas. It had a bitter taste, not at all like the one he was used to, but Legolas drank politely in small sips. He tried not to look at the broad-shouldered man's hands. He had only six fingers left on both of them together: two on his right hand, and four on this left.

The man noticed him struggling not to stare, but he wasn't angry. "One to a snow storm. Three to a bear."

"What?"

"That's how I lost my fingers."

"To a _bear_?" Legolas had never heard of anyone who was attacked by a bear and survived.

"The name's Hawn", said the man with a wry smile, "and I bit the bear back."

"And got a good story to tell the rest of us", one of the other rangers said. "We were just about to tell stories, actually, before you came by. I don't know about you elves, but when we are out travelling we like to share stories in the evenings. Maybe you'd like to hear one?"

"I would love to!"

"Hawn is an excellent story-teller", Findel said. "And the story of how he bit the bear is worth hearing. He..."

"Wait!" said one of the watches at the edge of camp. "Arahad's back."

Three new rangers strode into camp. They were wrapped in so many cloaks and furs they looked like real bears walking on two legs. The foremost had thick bushy eyebrows and a crooked nose, as if it had been broken more than once, and he looked very grim.

"That is our captain", said Hawn. "Chieftain, actually, of all the dunedain. Arahad, son of Araglas."

Arahad didn't look like a chieftain of anything at all, but when Legolas looked closer at him, there was just something about him - he could not put his finger to it, but he had a feeling that the man was somehow important.

Arahad looked straight back at him, with bright grey eyes, and for a moment Legolas thought he knew him.

"Is that an elf I see there?"

The moment passed. Legolas had never seen the man before.

"This is our new friend", Findel answered. "He's come to listen to some stories of ours. Hawn was just about to tell - "

"That must wait", said Arahad. His eyebrows drew together, as if he didn't like Legolas being there. "Are you elves still camped down there at the plateau?"

"Yes."

"Wood-elves, are you?"

Legolas lifted his chin a little. "We are."

"I thought so", said Arahad. "That is not a good place to camp, and had you been more used to mountains you would have known it. The snow up on that slope is unstable. An avalanche will sweep right over your camp. You should move to someplace safer."

Legolas frowned. "My brother said the weather isn't right for snowslides. The slope is on the leeside or something."

"Leeside slopes gather more snow", said Arahad. "What wind there is may set it in snow may seem stabile, but it isn't. There is a layer of hoar frost under it."

Legolas eyed him uncertainly, Findel with awe.

"I don't think they'll want to move", Legolas said.

"They should, for their own safety. Maybe I should go an talk to them? For I could not stand to see you hurt or killed when I could have prevented it. Especially not one as young as you."

When he said that last thing, his features softened as if behind his sterness he was truly worried. Legolas thought over it. Tinuhen rarely listened to anything he had to say, but would be rather listen to a man, and a dirty and smelly one that may be a traitor at that? Perhaps moving the camp would sound more rational if it came from an elf, even if that elf was Legolas.

"I'll go", he said.

"That's a good lad. Come back later and Hawn can tell you that story."

When he came back to the elven camp, they had finished eating, and sat around the fire with their hands cupped around steaming mugs of birch leaf tea. Maidh greeted him at the edge of the camp.

"Just making sure the rangers don't steal our provisions", he said. "You never know with men."

Tinuhen and Beren sat across the fire. Legolas tried to look rational and mature when he approached.

"Tinuhen", he said, "I've spoken to the rangers, and they're not at all bad. Their leader had been higher up the peak scouting and-"

"Not interested", Tinuhen said. "I have more important..."

"No, this is important!" Legolas said. "Arahad says that we should move our camp, because the snow is on the leeside so there may be an avalanche and then it will sweep right over us..."

"Young one", Tinuhen said patiently, "we have already thought about snowslides, and this is not the right..."

"It was something about hoar frost", Legolas said, but now he could not remember how Arahad had worded it and it suddenly sounded very unlikely. "That, and the wind... it wouldn't hurt to move just a little would it?"

"Listen, Legolas..." Beren reached for his shoulder and patted it. "I'm sure the rangers know a lot of the mountains, but it is a very big affair, and possibly a risky one too, too move a camp at night. It is too dark to be certain we find a safe place to camp."

"Then move to the rangers."

"We will not move to the rangers."

"But..."

"Enough", Tinuhen said. "You have let them talk you into things. I was afraid of that. Come and sit here. There are a few things I wanted to talk to you about."

"But I promised to go back..."

"It is too late, you must go to sleep soon."

"And hear a story..."

"What makes you think the rangers have better stories than us?" Tinuhen asked. "We have already told stories, while you were over there with those barbarians. Now sit down, there are things I need to discuss with you."

Legolas bit his lip. He should have known it would end like this, and now Tinuhen would never listen to Arahad either.

"Are you not going to sit down?" Tinuhen asked. "Fine, then you may stand. Tomorrow, as you know, we will arrive in Imladris, and meet lord Elrond. You will be wearing your finery and Beren will braid your hair. I don't want to see it dirty or torn..."

"I'm not a baby!" Legolas snapped. He shouldn't have, but he was so tired of Tinuhen constantly nagging at him, and maybe he was also slightly tired of himself for giving him reasons to. "Do you really think I'm going to, what, run off and climb a tree in those clothes? Because I wasn't going to!"

"Well... of course you weren't", Tinuhen said, taken aback. "Of course not, Legolas. I was just... That is good, then. You also need to know how to greet lord Elrond properly. He is not a king, as father, you know, but a lord, but he also bows to no one. When we arrive, he will come and meet us outside and I will say the important things, and I want you to keep quiet and look polite. When I present you, you must say that you are pleased to come to Rivendell and hope to be learning much from the wise noldor there."

"And if I don't hope that?"

"Then you will say it anyway", Tinuhen said. "You are here and you will do what you are told. I did not bring you through that forest for no reason. If I could have just left you at home I would have done that."

"I wouldn't have minded", Legolas said.

Tinuhen's eyes narrowed. "What's the matter with you? Is anything wrong?"

"You are", Legolas said, balling his fists. "I'm going to the rangers. At least they don't hate me."

"I don't - come back here, you little idiot!"

Legolas walked away, heart pounding, but Tinuhen did not follow. Snow whirled from the mountain peak, the wind threw itself upon him when he rounded the rock. He tried to think of Hawn's tale about the bear, but somehow it did not seem as interesting as before.

Findel waited outside the camp, and this time Legolas called out to not startle him.

"Will they move?"

"No. They said it would be dangerous because it's dark."

"Ah, well, they are right", said Findel and threw a glance towards the mountain peak. "Let's hope it will be fine, then. Come along. Hawn was really eager to..."

He fell silent, still looking to the mountain peak.

In the white up there was a dark crack, a gap that went wider and wider; behind the falling snow the grey stone was visible.

Without thinking Legolas turned; he must get back to the elven camp, he must warn -

"No!" Findel cried and caught him around the waist. "Stay here! Avalanche! _AVALANCHE!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the cliff-hanger, guys! ^^'
> 
> Also for the lack of updates last week - I had some issues with this chapter that needed to be solved. Next week will update as usual!
> 
> Thank you for reading and please comment!


	9. A Council of War

Legolas kicked and twisted. He howled like a wounded animal, but Findel was too strong.

"Avalanche! _Avalanche!_ " he kept screaming, and down at the elven camp, people started to shout.

A cloud of powder snow swept the mountain peak in white. There was a sharp, whistling sound, and the whistle became a rumble, and the rumble grew to a roar. The ground trembled. Findel lost his balance - Legolas got loose and ran and -

Hawn caught him and lifted him off the ground.

"My brother's down there! Tinu - "

"You cannot - "

The roar drowned their voices. Hawn struggled against a flood of snow; he was swept off his feet and Legolas fell under him. Snow thundered over him and there was a moment - or maybe it lasted an hour - when everything was white and loud and Legolas knew nothing else than Hawn's weight on his chest and shards of icy snow biting into his skin. He lay still and tried to breath.

Then it became quiet. The snow came to whooshing, tumbling stop.

Legolas groaned, blinked, and tried to move his arm. The snow fell off him. It was not deep, and he was not buried - when Hawn cautiously sat up, Legolas could sit up as well.

"You all right?" Hawn asked, somewhat shaken.

"Yes." Legolas was shaken too, and his head rang, and snow melted down the inside of his tunic. The powder snow slowly settled down, though it was still all white around them.

"Findel, where are you?"

"Over here!"

"How are you down there?" a ranger called from the camp. "Hawn? Findel?"

"Here, and all right!"

Hawn lifted Legolas onto his feet as if he was not any heavier than a sack of hay, then looked around for his fur hat, which lay half buried under the snow. Legolas drew a trembling breath.

"My brother", he said. "My brother, is he - "

"Don't worry", Hawn said and squinted to see through the whirling snow. "He will be... ah, _elbereth_."

"What?"

Hawn walked towards the plateau. Legolas half-ran behind him. He didn't understand; he couldn't see anything through the cloud of...

No, not a cloud.

It wasn't the flurries of powder snow in the air that blocked their view. It was a wall - a white wall of tightly packed snow that blocked off the whole plateau, looming higher than the trees of Greenwood. The avalanche had passed the rangers, but the cliffs sheltering the plateau was tall enough enough for all the snow to gather below them and fill the space between them and the slope completely.

Legolas ran up to the wall of snow. There was no way he could see through. He tried to climb, but even for him it was too treacherous - his hands slid through loose powder snow, lumps of ice came loose and rolled away under his feet.

He fell back on the ground, his breathing loud and shallow.

He tried again.

"It's no use", Hawn said.

The snow wall was almost as tall as the sides of the cliffs, and the stone was straight and smooth. Legolas followed it up and down, looking for somewhere to climb.

"Little one", Hawn said. "It's no use."

"My brother's there!"

Hawn caught his arm and forced him to stop. "Legolas, we don't know how stabile the snow is - or if there'll be another avalanche. We have to leave. You cannot climb over."

"Then what?"

Hawn shook his head.

Only then did Legolas become aware of how much his hands were trembling. He could not make them stop.

"It's too dark to see anything", Hawn said. "You'll stay with us tonight, and tomorrow we'll see."

"What if they're under the snow? What if they're all under the snow?"

Hawn closed his eyes for a moment. "It's too much to dig through. We would only risk our own lives."

Legolas swayed, like a candle flickering in too strong a breeze.

"Elves are quick", Hawn said. "They must have heard Findel's warnings. They had time to move, they did. I'm sure of it."

"But if I can't get back to them and they... and they can't get over to us..."

"Tomorrow", Hawn said again. "We must go now."

"That snow won't melt until spring."

Hawn looked at him as if he knew exactly how it felt. He bent down so their eyes were almost at level. "There are many ways over the Misty Mountains. They will be able to cross, sooner or later."

"If they live."

"They do. They'll live. I promise."

He took Legolas hand and led him back to the ranger's camp.

* * *

The black sword hilt lay on the table between them, like a dead rat the cat has brought inside and that no one wants to touch. Only the fox seemed not to care. She had curled up on the floor by Merilin's feet, and sometimes she broke the silence with a long sleepy yawn.

"Soo", Brand said, "it looks awfully elvish, that thing."

"So it does", said mother. "And it may well be at that, for I believe it is very old. Second Age at the least."

"Yet it was an orc who wielded it?"

Mother bowed her head yes.

"Then why - I mean, how - it was poisoned, then?"

Duneirien stifled an impatient sigh. She did not give much for long meetings. As the Hunt's Master she organized the hunters of the Mountain, but it had become more than that as the hunters reported what they heard and saw to her, and she in her turn reported to Beren. The hunters were the closest thing to scouts that Greenwood had at the moment. But Duneirien was not a warrior and definitely not a strategist, and had no patience for councils of war.

It was late; the sun had long since dragged her pale disc down below the tree-tops outside the council chamber, and they had already finished one and a half bottle of wine. Duneirien had tilted her chair back on its rear legs, mother was pacing by the fire, and Radagast seemed more interested in feeding a mouse in his pocket with nuts - though Merilin thought he listened. Few things passed the Brown Wizard unnoticed.

"No", mother said, "it cannot have been poison. It was far more powerful." She paused to search for words. "There was magic. There must have been - not only about the sword, but the whole scenario, the trees, the darkness. There was an evil force at work there, and I have felt it before."

"You mean..." Duneirien hesitated. "You mean - a remnant of the Black Land, that's what you think it is?"

Mother bowed her head again. "Yes, that is what I think. In fact, it cannot have been anything else."

There was a tense silence, and Merilin could hear her own heart pound. She glanced at father's empty chair. Everything was so wrong. She was frightened, and at the same time she could not believe that anything was true.

"What sort of a 'remnant' would it be, then?" Brand asked. "A piece of evil that has drifted on the wind to our lands?"

Mother frowned at his ill-hidden scepticism. "No, youngling, but a Man, or something like a Man, that survived the great war and is hiding in the Old Fortress. Just like the King has been saying for many a year, the Shadow is true evil, and there's a mind behind it. The darkness and the silence - it was a part of the Shadow."

Radagast looked up from his hungry mouse. "Tell me again about the sword, Gwiwileth, and how it vanished."

"Well", mother said. "It went very fast. After the orcs surrounded the King, I managed to get close enough to haul him over to my horse, and we fled. The orcs did not pursue, we were gaining the upper hand anyway, so soon after we could stop and get the King down on the ground. He was weak and feverish already then... mumbling and unable to see us. We found no severe wounds, but one in his side that felt freezing cold to the touch. One of the warriors said he had seen something, a weapon that had seemed out of place, so we went back to the place of the battle, and found that sword among others." She paused, and eyed the sword hilt as if she half expected it to speak up and tell the rest of the story. " I knew immediately as I saw it, it must be what he had seen. So I picked it up, and it - well, it was colder than anything I had ever felt. And then it simply drifted from my hands, like smoke. All but the hilt."

Silence fell again, and all their gazes turned to the hilt. The candle-light was reflected in the gem on the pommel, but it had lost its warmth and homeliness.

"Gwiwileth", Radagast said, "what do you know of the man that Thranduil believes hides in Dol Guldur?"

"Not much", mother replied. "Thranduil spoke very little of it. He used to say that he knew its presence, and that it should never have been allowed to survive. But by Yavanna's grace, I have seen such wounds as Thranduil's, and not in this Age."

The fox stirred uneasily, and Merilin looked up at her mother. "You mean..."

"The Enemy", mother said, and then, uncertainly, as if they would think she had gone mad: "Sauron."

They all fell silent. The sword hilt glared at them, laughed at their fear. Merilin could almost hear it whisper.

"However", mother said, "it is much too early to come to any conclusions. The only thing we can do is be ever cautious - and hope that Laeros will be able to tell us something."

Brand looked up, eager to change the subject. "What about the orc then? The orc that held the sword. What was he? A leader?"

"I believe he was", mother said, both reluctant and relieved to discuss more ordinary things. "He was large, unusually so, and his eyes - I remember his eyes, yellow and gleaming like those of an adder. There was intelligence in them, of that I'm certain. The orcs were all very well prepared and disciplined."

"Disciplined?" Duneirien echoed.

"Yes, disciplined. And the adder-eyed one, their leader - he took Thranduil's crown." Mother stopped by the fire, her jaw set in icy fury. "I did not realize it until later, because there was so much else going on, but he took it. And I believe it was planned. Taking the crown of Doriath - it was a challenge. A declaration, you might say, of war."

"War", Brand growled, and was quiet for a moment. "Well, if they want it, they can have it. Curse them all!"

"Cursing won't take you anywhere", said Duneirien. "Better kill them."

"I would, if my Queen allowed me to ride out and do it!"

Mother smiled sternly and clasped her hands behind her back. "Worry not, Brand, you will see your share of orc-slaying before you're even half as old as I am. The orcs must indeed be killed, but they have retreated - Duneirien, as your hunters has told me, they are no longer near the Mountain?"

"No, my Queen", Duneirien said. "They have retreated south-east, but we lost all trace of them two miles north of the Forest Road. As I've told you..."

"The Shadow, yes. The Shadow has come over the Forest Road. It is now threatening the elves living there."

"Impossible!" Brand said. "The Elvenking has always kept it at bay!"

"The Elvenking is no longer able." Mother sat down in the chair beside father's, and for a moment she looked afraid. "We cannot know how far the Shadow will come before Thranduil awakens, or if he will be able to push it back once he does. Perhaps the new border will be closer yet to the Mountain. We must be ready to defend ourselves or move. I would wish the old warriors would take up their weapons again."

"They are weary of war, my Queen", said Radagast.

"And so they will let our young ones stand alone? But we do not want war. We will flee rather than..."

"My lady", Duneirien said, "forgive me for saying so, but there are many who would rather fight than flee."

Mother glanced up at her. "And how many of them has fought before? And I mean in a battle, not some border skirmish with orcs or bandits."

"None, but..."

"Let me make one thing clear", mother said. "When I and the Elvenking were attacked, none of the guards were prepared. Few did well in the battle. We won on numbers alone. And now, Brand, how many are now boasting about how they slew orcs to the left and right, or how they long for the next battle?"

Brand shook his head. "We lost three elves, and some were wounded for life. None is boasting. They are quiet and mourning, like ghosts."

Mother looked first at Duneirien, than at the rest of her sorry little war council.

"There you have the state of the Greenwood army", she said. "And there you have the legacy of war. There is no way we can stand and fight without losing many elves - friends, comrades, loved ones. We lost too many outside the Black Lands. The warriors from the Second Age knows loss and sorrow by heart. Would you like to know it too, Duneirien? If we go to war, you will."

Duneirien was so pale Merilin thought she might faint.

"I know it already", she said, her voice so soft it was barely audible. "Tuiw... the scouts that were sent to the south."

Merilin bent down and picked the fox up, pressed it hard to her chest. The silence was so heavy she could barely breath, and all the time the sword hilt whispered.

Finally mother spoke again, this time very softly. "The elves by the Forest Road are in great danger. They may have survived on the grey border, but to the true shadow-wood we cannot leave them. Nor will it be safe for them to move, with the orcs nearby. We must ride down there and bring them to the Mountain."

"We have tried to move those elves many times, my queen", Brand said. "It won't be done. They refuse to leave their homes."

"It is more urgent now. And may not be forever, only until Thranduil is awake and the border stabile; perhaps when they know that, they will agree to move." The others looked dubious, and she went on: "There is more. Radagast, you told me the elves of the shadow-wood hold the Elven King and Queen in high regard."

Radagast nodded. "Those I passed on the way here were honoured to have had prince Tinuhen as their guest. They wanted to show him what the Shadow had done, even try to coerce him that it must be fought and not fled from. Even more, they were impressed with young Legolas, who is, as you know, more of a wood-elf than Tinuhen will ever be."

"It seems they think the Royal Family is wiser, more capable than other elves", mother said. "Or at least that we understand Greenwood the way they do. Perhaps one of us - "

Brand rose so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him. "My Queen, you cannot!"

"Absolutely not!" said Duneirien. "We need you - "

"More than ever - "

"You're the only one - "

"You're the Queen - "

"Peace", mother said with a smile. "I did not intend to go. Wish as I may, I cannot, for while my husband is wounded I must be in charge of the Mountain, and we need a strong defence now." Then she looked at Merilin, and tried to say something with her eyes. Merilin begun to shake her head no, but mother would not have it.

"In my stead", she said, "Merilin must go. She is much like me, and much like Legolas; the elves of the shadow-wood will listen to her."

"Mother", Merilin said, but found she could not say anything more. All the other elves had to be brave. If they could - if Nelladell could, and Taith, and sweet little Legolas - then so could she.

Mother looked at her and slowly, incredulously, Merilin raised her chin.

"You will ride into the shadow-wood", mother said, "and bring the elves there to the Mountain. Duneirien and Brand, you will take her there. You will succeed; you have to. It is their only chance."

* * *

Early on the morrow, the rangers broke camp.

Legolas sat by the burnt-out fire and watched them take down their tents and saddle their horses. He had been too restless too sleep, and now he was too tired to think. He tried to imagine how it would be if all the other elves were dead and he would have to ride back to Greenwood alone. Hethulin and Beren, and Amlûg... and Tinuhen of course. Maybe Tinuhen was angry with him for not trying harder to make them move.

I should have tried harder, he thought. I truly should have.

Arahad had sent a some men to examine the avalanche, but they had found no way over, and heard nothing from the elves. Hawn still claimed it would be all right, but Legolas could tell they feared the worst.

When it was time to leave, Findel brought him a horse - a sturdy one with a thick brown winter coat criss-crossed with narrow scars.

"Marigold is a bit old for riding", he said. "Her back is not very good, so we keep her as a pack horse, but you are not as heavy as a grown man."

"Marigold?"

"Aye. Arahad rode her when she was young. She's a war-maiden, the best you could ever have."

Marigold leaned down so Legolas reached to scratch her behind the ears. She was bigger than Amlûg and stronger-looking, though she was not very pretty, and her eyes were dark and gentle. When he ran her fingers through her mane, for the first time since the avalanche, Legolas felt a tiny spark of hope.

That day they rode over the highest point of the High Pass, under strong winds and a clear sky. The track led them up and up over rocks and ridges, sometimes with breathtaking falls to their right, sometimes with cliffs looming overhead almost creating a cave. Marigold found her footing as easily as an elf on a tree-branch. If Legolas tried to guide her, she ignored it and walked as she found best.

They came around a sharp turn and saw two horses and riders ahead of them. It was afternoon and the newcomers had the sun at their backs, but even at a distance Legolas could tell they were warriors, straight and alert. When they came closer he saw that they were elves, and strangely they looked exactly the same.

Dark-haired and wild-eyed, with swords over their shoulders and quivers strapped to their saddles, the elves watched the rangers without even a hint of a smile. Their hair was made similarly in tight warrior's braids, and they wore the same old, notched armour.

"Elladan!" Arahad said. "Elrohir. Well met."

The elves bowed their heads but said nothing. They turned their horses around and beckoned at the rangers to follow. The rangers did so.

"Who are they?" Legolas whispered.

"Lord Elrond's sons", said Findel. "Elladan and Elrohir. Don't bother to try to tell them apart. I cannot."

"Why are they so quiet?"

"Do you know about lady Celebrían?" Findel said. "The twins were crazed with their mother's death, and now they can think of nothing but vengeance. They're not wicked, but it's best to leave them alone."

Legolas rose in his stirrups and tried to catch a glimpse of the elven twins, but too many rangers were in the way. Marigold shook her head irritably as if to tell him to sit still, so he did.

"Don't you know the way to Rivendell yourselves?"

"We do, but the elves often send someone out to meet visitors. As a courtesy."

The track went up again, and though the mountainpeak was still to their left, rising further than anyone could see, ahead of them was only the sky. Higher and higher they rode until finally they could see the ground sloping down before them - and down and down and down.

They stopped on the ridge. The wind tore at their cloaks and the air felt somehow thinner than usual. Behind them in the blue distance lay the East - the grasslands of the Vale of Anduin, the vast and wild Greenwood the Great, Lake-town, Dale, Erebor.

Ahead of them - ahead of them was the West. Snowy rolling lowlands, little woods and rivers, fenced fields and winding roads - and somewhere behind it all was the Sea.

Legolas drew a deep breath. Somehow he knew that though every step of the journey had taken him away from home, this was the greatest step of all. The East would always be the East; the Wild would always be the Wild. Now he crossed the border to everything he had ever known.

And he did it all on his own.

Somehow that strengthened him. He had no way to go but forward, so there was no reason to think about what was behind him. Legolas looked over his shoulder once and then no more.

He knew, somehow, though he did not know how, that the Legolas who had left Greenwood early in November would never return to it - not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Please review!


	10. The House of Elrond

When dawn came with no word from the other side of the avalanche, and no hope of breaching it, Tinuhen led the elves down from the Misty Mountains.

They had no other choice. It was on pure luck they had escaped the avalanche, but one of their wagons were lost under the snow and one elf had almost been buried with it. They had little left in the way of supplies, and they needed to reach Rivendell soon. All they could do was cling to the hope that Legolas would be waiting for them there.

It was as Beren had feared. Had the High Pass not failed them the elves would have been in Rivendell almost a month before Midwinter; now it was impossible to tell when or how they would reach it. There were other passes, but Tinuhen knew very little about them.

The elves were pale and haggard and none of them spoke a word, not even when they came down to easier terrain and the sturdy woods of the foothills. As they rode the morning grew clear and sunny like the one before it. The mountains towering to their right looked calm and harmless like sleeping giants, and Tinuhen felt like they were mocking him. He knew by now how treacherous they were. They had tricked him into trusting them, to think that he understood them, and then, roaring with laughter, they had proven him wrong. When Tinuhen thought about it he could not help but cringe with shame.

Legolas - young, reckless, stupid Legolas - had known better than him.

And - ai Elbereth, Legolas. Tinuhen had promised mother and father to protect him, and he had tried - even when Legolas annoyed him until he never wanted to hear his voice again, even when he was disobedient or foolish or kept asking stupid questions, even when he made the others laugh when they ought to be serious, even when he made Tinuhen look like a fool in front of them when he fought so hard to gain their respect - all the time, Tinuhen had tried to protect him. Maybe he hadn't always been nice, and maybe he would rather that Legolas would have stayed at home, but he had wanted him to be safe.

And now - now Legolas might be...

No, Tinuhen thought and chewed on his thumb nail. Legolas is in Rivendell. He got away. He must have.

"My prince!" Tulus called out, coming up the ridge ahead. "We found a milestone. The road must be under the snow just there."

Tinuhen took a deep breath. He must stay focused. Tulus had ridden ahead with Hethulin to scout, and Tinuhen rode after him, over the ridge and into the valley behind it. There was a milestone all right, and he could still read the letters carved into it - High Pass and Framsburg to the north, Moria and Hollin to the south.

"There's no way to tell exactly how the road goes under the snow", Tulus said. "And other stones might be snowed over."

Tinuhen nodded. "We'll have to guess our way and follow the mountains, but we will try to keep to the milestones if we can. Tell me if you see anything else of importance. But be cautious."

"Yes, my prince", Tulus said. Hethulin said nothing. There was not an ounce of respect in the way she looked at him. She had never liked Tinuhen much, and it seemed now that Beren was not able to tell her off, she thought she could speak to him however she wanted.

Tinuhen refused to take the bait. Hethulin had argued so furiously against leaving the mountains that he had been afraid she would go against his orders and stay. He had wanted to discuss it, but she had not been open to discussion, and so Tinuhen had been forced to make a decision that he was no more certain of than anyone else.

Truth was, he had no idea if they were doing the right thing. Perhaps they were leaving Legolas to a certain death, only maybe they were riding into its gap themselves. Tinuhen wondered what father would have done, or Beren or lord Elrond. But he could not ask them. He was the leader now, and a leader must never show himself in doubt. After all that had happened, Tinuhen could not afford to be weak.

He rode back to the others, who were only just coming over the top of the hill. Maidh rode first, keeping careful watch ahead. Behind him came Laeros. He was still pale and hardly spoke a word, but he sat upright on Beren's horse and his eyes were alert. Something had come back to him when the Shadow came over the Forest Road, an instinct, just like Legolas had said. Now there was also life.

They moved slowly through the valley as the sun rose to its highest peak. Then they stopped to eat and let the horses graze what little dry winter grass they could find under the snow. Once the foothills and the Vale of Anduin had been the home of a numerous people, but the éoréd had left only crumbling houses and empty castles behind. They had moved north first, and founded their capital Framsburg where the rivers Langwell and Greylin met, but not long after that they had moved south instead. Now the foothills were empty, and the elves would have to manage on their own.

Tinuhen could barely get anything down. The others looked at him in the corners of their eyes - he was certain of it, though he never caught them doing it. They must know it was all his fault, and they must know that however much Tinuhen tried to pretend it was not true, Beren had been their leader all along. He was the one who knew and understood. He was the one who had seen things. All Tinuhen knew about journeys and leadership and survival he had learnt from books, and the mountains had blown that knowledge away like dust in the wind.

When he could bear it no longer, Tinuhen stood up and walked over to the wagon - the only one they had left. In it, on the bed of furs and blankets that had belonged to Laeros, lay Beren.

"How is he?"

The healer, who sat on the edge of the wagon with her bowl of meagre soup cupped in her hands, shook her head. "Not better, not worse. Time will prove."

"There must be something you can do."

"Nothing we haven't already done."

Tinuhen sat down beside her. Beren frowned in his sleep, clenched his hands on top of the blankets. His face was as pale as the snow. His eyes were closed in exhaustion.

"But what - what's the matter with him?"

"The cold. His leg - it pains him greatly. But most of all it was the weight of snow. Something is broken inside him. Its poisoning his body from within."

"Can it not be healed?"

"We do not have the means to do much for him now, more than keep him warm and safe."

"We must bring him to Rivendell."

"Of course", the healer said dryly, "but that is the point of it all, is it not?"

Tinuhen sighed and pulled one knee up to his chest. Then he put it down again; it hardly fit a prince to sit like that.

Mere moments later he realized he was biting his thumbnails again. He clenched his hands to keep himself from doing it.

He thought of Rivendell, the shelves upon shelves of books in Erestor's library, the great telescope under the glass dome in lord Elrond's astronomy tower, the white house and the cliffs around it rising higher than any walls, so that one never had no worry about wolves or wargs or goblins ... He had never felt as safe as in Rivendell. None of the dangers of home could ever get into that blessed valley. In there, he had never been scared.

We will get there while there is still time, he thought. Lord Elrond can save Beren. He can. He can do anything.

* * *

It was darkening when Elladan and Elrohir led the rangers into the valley of Rivendell.

The valley wound a deep scar in the mountainside, and the path led steeply down the side of it, past a water-fall that splashed into an ice-edged stream, and in between tall pine trees. Tucked into the folds of the mountain was a white stone house. As they rode down the path the house vanished from their view, but they could see the smoke rising from a chimney, and hear the sound of people singing softly at a distance. Legolas frowned when he heard what song it was.

"By the Valar!" Arahad said. "The Mourning, again? Elladan..."

"Is somebody dead?" Legolas whispered to Findel.

Findel shook his head. "They're mourning their lady. It is almost two years since Celebrían sailed and you might think they would be over..."

One of the twins gave Findel such a dark look over his shoulder the ranger fell silent and huddled in his saddle. When the elf looked away, Findel smiled faintly at Legolas and said: "Of course, some things must have their time. But had you come here two years ago they would have sung something silly about dirty rangers and lost elflings."

It was the last thing Legolas would have thought about noldor - that they would like to sing silly things. The low, longing tones of the Mourning sounded much more like the Rivendell he had heard about.

The next time they saw the House of Elrond it towered above them, high on the uneven ground. It looked old and yet unaffected by wind and weather; strong as if it had grown out of the very rocks it stood on, but light and airy like a palace from the old days. A warm light glowed in the arched windows and shimmered on the snow. The path led through an archway where two sentinels stood, hidden but for the reflection of torch-light in their armour, and the glint of moonlight in their hair. The rangers rode past them and onto a snow-covered courtyard.

They were there at last. It was hard to believe. After so many weeks of walking and riding and sleeping on bare ground, and everything that had happened - the Shadow and Tuiw and father and finally the avalanche - the House of Elrond stood there with light in the windows and smoke from the chimney as if it had been waiting for Legolas the whole time.

And perhaps it had. They were expected. A dozen elves stood on top of the stair that led to the great front doors, and as soon as they saw the rangers they came down to great them. They talked eagerly in clear, melodious voices, and the rangers embraced them like old friends and greeted them all by name. Then the elves looked at Legolas, and they fell silent because they did not know how to greet him.

Arahad laughed at them. "What's this?" he asked. "Do you not know the name of everything and everyone that comes into Rivendell?"

"We do", the elves said, wide-eyed, "but not this one!"

Legolas felt strangely satisfied that the elves knew no more of him than he knew of them. They weren't entirely uneven, after all. He watched them from under the wide hood of his green cloak, thinking that if he couldn't look as magnificent as the noldor, at least he could look as mysterious.

Because they did look magnificent, and yet not as he had expected. Everybody at home had made them sound stern and solemn and arrogant, above the company of wood-elves and, consequently, above the company of men. These elves were kind and smiled a lot, and even if they looked like the noldor Tinuhen had so admired - dark of hair and starry-eyed, and tall and proud like kings - they didn't seem to be above the company of anyone.

"You will know sooner or later", Arahad said, "but I don't want any of you to torment him with questions, is that understood? The child is with me. And I need to talk to lord Elrond."

Some of the elves took their horses, the others ushered the rangers inside and led Arahad away to lord Elrond. They walked through a hall edged with pillars, down a hallway where moonlight pooled under great arched windows, and through so many doors with carved frames and silver knobs that Legolas lost count. Sometimes they passed doors that stood ajar to reveal other rooms, and sometimes windows that overlooked the snowy garden or the icy river. The moonlight twinkled in silver chandeliers on the walls, or in the metallic threads woven into great tapestries.

At last they came to another hall, a rather small one where a fire burnt in between carved pillars. Elves were seated around the fire and in the great windows, or they stood or sat half in shadow so that at first they looked like statues, but at a second glance they had moved. Legolas stopped in the doorway. Something about the room felt so much like home he almost thought he had woken up from a very long dream. Maybe it was the fire. Maybe the soft singing of elven voices and the tunes of a lute. Legolas had never longed for home as much as now when he could almost have been there.

"This is the Hall of Fire", Findel said. "The elves gather here in the evenings to sing and tell stories."

"The Hall of Fire?"

"Yes."

"We have a Hall of Trees at home."

"You have? Come." Findel took his hand and led him to the fire. "I'm starving."

There was food and drink set out for the rangers, but they had little time to eat because the elves wanted to know everything about their travels since they last met. For a long while it was quiet while Hawn - who was truly a good story-teller - spoke about journeys to the far north and battles against wolves and bandit attacks and markets in Dale and adventures in a place called Bree. The elves were good listeners, but sometimes they interrupted him with questions. It was just like the evenings at home, when the hunters shared tales of their day's work with the foresters and the rafters and the elves that had stayed in the Mountain.

When he neared the end of the tale, one of the elves across the fire turned to Legolas and asked: "What about you?" He was the only other elfling in the room and hardly more than a year or so older than Legolas. He had a harp in his lap, and he looked kind but rather serious.

Legolas hesitated. Tinuhen had never wanted them to keep lying once they were in Rivendell, but he had said that they must still be careful, and maybe it was different now that it was only Legolas. At least Tinuhen had been here before. Perhaps he knew who they could trust and who could be a traitor.

"What's your name?" the other boy asked. "Or it's alright if you're shy..."

Legolas didn't want them to think he was afraid. He straightened. "It's Legolas. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too. My name is Lindir", said the boy politely, after which the other elves had to say their names too, and they were so many Legolas remembered not a single one.

"Isn't that the name of the youngest prince?" someone asked, and Legolas hesitated again. He glanced at Hawn, then over at Findel who sat across the fire. He didn't want to tell them he had been lying, not just yet - and anyway Tinuhen might be safer as long as no one knew he was there.

"It is", he said. "I was named after him. It's a silvan name."

"So why are you here?" the elves asked. "And all alone!"

"Here, now", Findel said. "It's very late, and Legolas had been through a lot. Let him..."

"No, it's alright. I can tell them." Legolas looked up at the foreign, dark-haired elves and decided that he was not going to be afraid of them. Maybe they would find him unsophisticated, and maybe they would not. He was a prince, even if they did not know it yet. "I was supposed to come here with my father", he said. "His name is Beren and he's the leader of the guard at home. But last night when we set up camp below the High Pass there was an avalanche and Beren... father and all the others got stuck behind it. I was lucky because I was with the rangers."

Then, because the elves were still very curious, he told them about the journey. Most of the noldor had never been to Greenwood so he had to explain it to them, the Mountain and the Forest Road and Ninniach and her elves; the Shadow and Tuiw and how fa... the Elvenking was injured and they still did not know what was wrong. He told them about the grassy hills beyond the forest edge, and the river and the great eagle they had seen in the mountains. He said he didn't know exactly why they were travelling to Rivendell, but it was something important that his father had to talk to lord Elrond about. The elves listened without a word until Legolas was finished. Then they asked a lot of questions, and they did not seem to think that Legolas was unsophisticated at all. He felt as though something that he had dreaded for a long time had suddenly turned out not to be a scary as he had thought - and yet he had never realized he had dreaded it at all.

Eventually the elves started talking about other things. Some of them - the boy named Lindir among them - took their harps and flutes and played softly in the background. Sometimes the other elves sung with them. Legolas yawned, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. For the first time in weeks he was warm down to his toes, the wind could not reach him through the sturdy stone walls of the house of Elrond, and even his shoes were dry. He would have been very happy, if not for his companions stuck in the mountains.

Where were they now? Arahad had said they would probably head for some other pass, so maybe they had already left. Or maybe, Legolas thought anxiously, they were dead. The thought made him feel as if he could not get enough air. He had tried to keep it at bay ever since the avalanche, but he could never get it out of his head completely.

Suddenly everyone fell silent around him. One elf was standing up and had started to sing. She was young and tall and raven-haired, and her face was as soft as a little bird's - but when she sung her voice was strong like the northern wind. Legolas thought she seemed sad; sad and proud, as if she wore her sadness like a crown. Other elves fell in with her, but her voice rose above theirs as if born on stronger wings until it filled the entire room. She sung about the Two Trees and when Legolas closed his eyes he could see them before him, the silver one and the golden one, long ago and far away.

He opened his eyes and watched the elves. Their faces were grave in the fire-light. In some ways the noldor were not so different from the wood-elves, like when Hawn had told his story and they interrupted him with questions, but he could feel that they were also ancient and powerful and terrifying. There was and elf in a midnight-blue robe with silver chains woven into his hair, and though his eyes were kind they were also deep and dark as if all the knowledge of the world were in them. And there was another elf, fair-haired and stern, who sat still by the fire but had that unpredictable air of a deadly warrior, ready to strike any moment.

The song ended and for a while everything was quiet but for the fire hissing. Then slowly the conversations took up again where they had stopped.

"The woman who sung", Legolas said, leaning towards Hawn, "is she lady Arwen?"

"Aye. She is."

Legolas looked around. "Her brothers aren't here."

"No", Hawn said. "They never are. It's probably for the best - it's hard to be happy when they're around."

It seemed like such a sad thing to say. It had been hard to be happy when Laeros was around too, but in the wagon or in his tent he was alone with his torments, and that was even worse to think of. Laeros' pain was so great in comparison to the discomfort of having him around, it would be unfair to deny him the company. But the twins had left without a word as soon as they rode onto the courtyard. Maybe they wanted to be alone.

"There's a lot of sadness here", Legolas said.

"Aye", Hawn said quietly. "Lady Celebrían... And then there's always sadness where there are noldor."

"What for?"

"Well, you know the stories, don't you? About their Exile. Beleriand. The Last Alliance. Hollin - lost a thousand years ago. That's nothing for elves of this age. They remember it all."

"Oh", Legolas said. He had never realized that these elves were the same elves he'd heard about in all those tales. The wood-elves always said the noldor just sat in their valley doing nothing, so Legolas had assumed that was what they had always done.

"My father was in the Last Alliance", he said. "And my mother too."

"I am sure they remember it well."

Father did. He never spoke of it, and Legolas knew it was because it would have made him too sad; sometimes he traced the small scar on the back of his hand and looked like he did not see what was before him in the room, but other things long ago that no one else could see. He had lost his own father in that war. Mother... a club had hit her on the side of her head. It ought to have killed her, but it did not; instead the iron spikes left deep marks on the side of her head and she used to braid her hair to cover them. Sometimes she forgot and you could see the knot of white scars around her ear. Legolas could never help but stare at them. When she caught him doing it she smiled and put her hair down and looked like usual again.

Legolas bit his lip. Mother wasn't there. He thought of the miles and miles of stone and field and forest between Rivendell and home and suddenly he was frightened. He felt like he was drowning.

Hawn yawned. "It's getting late. Are you tired, Legolas?"

"A little."

"The elves will keep on singing for hours more, but I want at least one full night's sleep before we leave again. I'll go to bed soon."

Legolas looked up. "You're leaving?"

"Not tomorrow", Hawn assured him. "But maybe the day after that. We're rangers - we have work to do. But we'll be back before Midwinter, and stay over Yule I think."

"What kind of work?"

"Oh", Hawn said. "Everything you can imagine, and a little bit more. We make sure the villages around here are safe, and that the goblins and wargs don't get too bold, and that the roads are free from trolls and bandits, and sometimes we protect merchants and other travellers when they're journeying through the wild. Now that winter's come, it's dangerous out here if you don't have a valley like this to protect you."

Legolas should have expected that they would leave, of course. He had not even known the rangers were so close friends with the noldor. But he hadn't given much thought to what would happen once he arrived in Rivendell either.

How long until Tinuhen would come? A week, or more? A month?

Legolas rubbed his eyes. His head was exhausted from all the worried thoughts in it. He wanted to sleep and when he woke up he wanted Tinuhen to be there and Hethulin and everyone else. More than anything, he wanted to go home.

But he wasn't going to cry. He was a prince, and princes do not cry.

Tinuhen would make it in time. Maybe he didn't know a lot about mountains, and maybe he didn't like Legolas, but he could set everything right. He could. He could do anything.

* * *

He must have dozed off. When he woke again it was quiet, and he lay on a bed under a thin wool blanket. A ray of moonlight shone through the curtains and onto his face.

Legolas sat up.

He was alone in the room - a small room, plainly furnished, but with a fire-place in which the embers were still glowing and a washstand and a wardrobe throwing shadows on the floor - and he could not remember how he got there. He was still wearing his own clothes, but someone had taken off his shoes.

Legolas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet sank down in a soft, blue carpet. He walked over to window, pushed the veil-like curtains aside and saw the courtyard shimmering in the light of the fading moon. There was no light in any of the windows.

Legolas wrapped his arms around him and leaned to the window frame. A wind stirred the snow on the courtyard and whistled softly in the chimney. A tawny owl called. It wasn't entirely quiet after all. And there was a sound, or a feeling, almost like the humming of the earth at home - that feeling of life and warmth that was Greenwood. It was different here, but equally alive. He could feel The House of Elrond slowly breathing in and out.

And he could feel the Mountains. He felt them towering over Rivendell, felt the miles and miles of stone beneath them and weight of the sky that they carried on their shoulders. When they arrived Legolas had looked for ways out of the valley - there was two, the narrow winding path up to the north, and another path that led south over a bridge and into the forest. But he could not take any of them, for they led into the mountains. Legolas felt like a bear in a trapping pit.

He could not stand it. The night made everything feel small and insignificant. He found his shoes on the floor beside the bed, and his cloak folded on a chair with the belt with his dagger placed on top of it. There was also a small pile of clothes that weren't his, and they were probably meant for him to borrow, but he ignored them. He put his shoes on, wondered if he should take the dagger, then decided that if the traitor was out for him he might as well have use for it. The door swung open almost soundlessly when he tried it. Standing in the corridor outside the room, he could hear one of the rangers snoring in the room next to his.

Left or right? It didn't matter; Legolas had no idea where he was, expect it seemed to be the north wing. He set off to the right.

The corridors were all dark. It seemed the elves were asleep too. He passed doors closed around their secrets, and a few open to empty parlours and other corridors. He walked past great colourful tapestries, and windows with painted glass, and statues so life-like he expected them to move any moment, and an apple-tree that grew on bare earth in the middle of a round room. He stood under the tree and watched the moonlight run like molten silver along its branches. He wondered what would happen now, with the meeting and the traitor and no one here to do something but him. He begun to realize the enormity of him being here alone.

Then he froze.

He had thought he heard a voice - somebody whispering just around the corner. Or had he imagined it?

The traitor? Legolas instinctively reached for his dagger, but he did not pull it out of the sheath. A doorway opened to his right and the voice, if there truly was one, had come from there.

He moved closer. He was a wood-elf, but he was also of the Mountain, and he knew how to move soundlessly over stone as well as through the forest. No one would hear him if he did not want them to.

He turned the corner and found himself in a corridor, broad enough to be a hall, with great windows on one side. The other side was covered in tapestries that looked older than the Ages, and paintings so old the paint was worn off or bleached so the motives were almost impossible to make out. There were so many things laid out on shelves and pedestals that Legolas had to slow down and look. On a mannequin stood a dented suit of armour that missed one pauldron, and on a display case behind thick glass lay a broken necklace and pieces of parchment crammed with runes. There was an old, battle-worn helmet on a table with spindly legs, and on a podium of sorts, laid out on black velvet, was a sword in shards. In the middle of the hallway, between a tapestry of dancing elves and a painting of a fair-haired warrior, were two great doors. They had carvings of roses and thorns over them and the gilded letters above read: _The only treasure greater than a book is two books._

It seemed an odd thing to write on a door (or to write at all, Legolas thought and could not help but be reminded of Tinuhen) but nevertheless he wanted to see what was behind them. He looked around. The hallway seemed empty thus far. Legolas laid his ear to the door and listened. There was no sound. As carefully as one picks up an empty eggshell, Legolas pulled at the doors.

They were locked.

Treasure, he thought and glanced at the letters again. Maybe it was lord Elrond's treasure chamber! In that case he should not try to get inside.

And besides, whoever he had heard was in the hallway, not behind the doors. Slowly he walked past them. He could still not see anyone. Maybe in the shadows between the pillars at the end of the hallway... the curtains were closed over the windows at the far end. If anyone was hiding in the corridor, it would be there. Legolas stared into the shadows, suddenly afraid to move closer.

Something stirred. The curtains billowed as if something had brushed past them.

Legolas held his breath.

For a long while he did not dare to move.

Something - someone - was staring back at him.

He caught the metallic glint of silver, a pair of grey eyes, a dark figure that lifted its head. Out of the shadows came a clear but broken voice: "Why are you here?"

Legolas knew that voice.

Another elf looked up from where he had rested his head against the first one's shoulder. The two sat very close, but this was not a meeting of lovers. Even in the dark and silence Legolas saw their sadness like a heavy cloak on their shoulders.

"I am sorry", he said. "I didn't mean to bother anyone."

The first of the dark-haired twins nodded slowly, as though to say the apology was accepted. Or maybe that was not at all what he meant and he was going to kill Legolas, because Findel had said the twins were like demons. He wanted to leave but he did not dare to move until the twins had told him to.

The first one said: "You are the Greenwood child."

"Yes."

"It is very late."

"I, uh... I couldn't sleep."

The twin stood up, even though the other growled and tried to hold him back. He took a few steps forward, so that he came out of the shadows and Legolas could see him clearly. He did not wear his armour, but a plain brown tunic that looked like it had seen many battles. A single silver pearl was braided into his hair.

"Does anything ache you?"

Legolas bit his lip. The grief in the elf's eyes was stronger than the fury, stronger than the hatred, and Legolas knew he would never be as troubled as these elves.

"No", he said. "Nothing important."

"Yet it keeps you awake."

"Well, yes."

The elf tilted his head to the side. "You have come a long way."

"Yes." Legolas looked at his feet, then up at the elf again. Was that curiosity in his eyes? "Um... what's your name?"

"Oh - it's Elladan."

"Pleased to meet you", Legolas said automatically.

Miraculously, Elladan's lips curved upward into something like a smile. "Your name was Legolas, was it not?"

"It was."

"Elladan", the other elf hissed. Elladan turned to him, then back to Legolas, and his eyes were dark and unreadable.

"Perhaps you should return to you own quarters."

"Yes", Legolas said hastily and began to leave, but then he turned. He wanted to say something more, something comforting, but he did not know what could make these elves any less sad. "Will I.. will I see you again?"

"I do not know."

"I hope I will", he said without thinking, even though he was not sure he wanted to.

But Elladan smiled again, that eerie shadow of a smile that did not even reach half-way to his eyes, and yet it made him look just a little less sad. "Perhaps we will, then, little one. Perhaps we will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not as happy with this chapter as I'd like, but I honestly don't think I can make it any better... and I didn't want to delay the update again. So while it's not perfect, I hope you'll bear with me :) On the bright side I'm so excited to finally introduce the twins (well technically they were introduced in the last chapter, but they didn't get a lot of screen-time then)!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Tales from Doriath

Merilin sat by the hearth in her father's room and watched the fire-light leap over her unsheathed sword. It entranced her, and she let it do so. It made the pounding of her heart feel like battle drums and it steadied her shivering fingers. The sword was heavy in her hands, but she liked the way her leather gloves creaked when she closed her fingers around the hilt.

It was snowing again. The fire was hissing at some wind up in the chimney, and there was fog on the windows. She rose, sheathed her sword, and walked over. Greenwood was swept in a white winter coat. The rustle of naked branches had replaced the singing of leaves.

Merilin breathed on the glass and put her fingers to the fog. She drew a crown, an ornate silver crown like the one the orcs had stolen from her father.

"They're sparring", she said. "Down at the courtyard. Not the guards - the warriors, the ones that fought in the Last Alliance. Well, not all of them. They've taken up their weapons again."

She had watched them the day before, the elves of the last war, in their old-fashioned armour and their newly sharpened swords. She had seen them beat each other mercilessly on the practise field because they knew real war was nothing like the orderly sparring bouts of the guards.

"They say we are at war", she said and watched the crown fade away with the fog. "If the elves that survived the Dagorlad say we are at war, who can speak against them?"

Father did not move. If he heard her, somewhere deep in his dark dreams, he gave no sign of it. Merilin walked over to him and reached for his cold hands.

"I don't mean to worry you. It is snowing outside, did you know? The children are so happy. I must leave you now but when I come back... then we'll make garlands together for Midwinter, like we did last year, do you remember? We sat in the Hall of Trees and we'd both had a bit too much of that wine from the south and you said..." She trailed off. She couldn't remember what he'd said, if he had said anything important at all. She just wanted - she just wanted him to hear her.

But he was still and quiet, so quiet she had to lean over his chest and listen for his breathing. He was so pale. His skin was as grey as ashes, and there was no silver in his hair. Sometimes it was as though he was about to wake up, but just as soon he was gone again.

Merilin stood up and clasped the sword-belt over her fur-trimmed winter coat. Then she picked her fox up from where it slept on the hearth skin and put it on the bed. The fox refused to go anywhere near father's injured shoulder, but she curled up on his other side and laid her furry head on his chest.

"Keep him warm", Merilin told her. "Keep him warm and safe until I'm back."

She took her rucksack and water-skin and left, closing the door and hurrying down the stair without another glance back.

When she came down to the Hall of Trees Duneirien stood there with her archers and spear-elves clad in dark fur and leathers. Brand stood with her, he and his elves all in chain mail, with swords at their sides and shields at their backs. They had been told to flee rather than fight the orcs if it came to that, but they must be prepared. Mother stood there too, and Radagast, who would ride with them to the shadow-wood before he headed onward to Rivendell.

Merilin looked over the hunters and guards and she saw their fear, but also their resolve. That made her swallow her own fear. There was no way to go now but forward, into the shadow-wood. If that meant into the arms of the orcs, then so be it.

"Is everyone ready?"

Duneirien nodded, and Brand said: "We are, my lady."

"Then we should leave at once. The elves by the Forest Road need us. But remember..." She hesitated. Before her brothers left for Rivendell, Beren had gathered the travellers and talked to them about their journey, about the challenges they would meet and how they must beat them together. It had been important for them, she knew. The travellers had been no more experienced than her warriors.

_Her_ warriors. When she looked over their faces, saw the determination in their eyes, her heart lifted. She raised her voice so they would know to listen. "Remember this. All of you... all of _us_ were chosen for our courage and our endurance. We are not soldiers, but skilled warriors, clever woodsmen, and if the shadow-wood turns against us we will beat it. That must strengthen our hearts." The elves were so quiet one could have heard a feather fall to the floor between them. It wasn't the best of speeches, but if she believed in it, maybe they would too. "Greenwood has become a dangerous place, and we cannot tell what we will meet in the shadow-wood. But we are elves of the Mountain, as strong as stone and as wise as trees. When the road is dark, we will not look back. We will look ahead, and we will make it."

"My Lady", the elves mumbled in chorus. Merilin bowed her head. The fear had not left her, but she could bear it.

"Look ahead", mother echoed her, "and you will make it. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. Beware the Shadow."

Their departure was a solemn one. There was none of the joy and excitement with which her brother's had left. They rode into great danger, and when they returned - if they did - perhaps there would be no Elvenking, and no Greenwood, and no Mountain.

Merilin turned as she rode under the arch and saw Nelladell and Taith on the stair. One in green silk, the other in pink velvet, they stood as straight as statues, raising their hands in farewell.

* * *

The House of Elrond was still and quiet, huddled in the last grey shadows of the night. Legolas had slept without dreaming. When he returned from his meeting with the twins he had been exhausted, as if the strange house with all its secrets had taken all his energy left from the journey, but there was no going back to sleep now, and though the sun was not yet over the mountains the sky had begun to brighten.

So again he left the room, but not to pace the lonely corridors or look for twins or treasures in the hallways - he left by the window, clad in his usual clothes and ignoring the ones left for him in his room, and with his wide cloak turned inside-out. With the gardens covered in snow there was not much greenery in Rivendell. The white fur lining would hide him better.

Cautiously he pushed the window open and reached out to touch the elm that grew outside.

"Do you mind?"

The elm was quiet for a while, and her naked branches brushed softly against each other.

_You nightingale? Nightingale?_

Legolas smiled in surprise, and it felt like the first time in a long while.

"No", he said, "Merilin is my sister. I am green-leaf."

_Green-leaf_ , the elm repeated. _Sister of nightingale!_

"No, brother", Legolas said. "I am a boy, see? But it doesn't matter. Can you help me down?"

The elm gladly did. When Merilin last was in Rivendell the elm must have been very young, but Merilin had always liked elm-trees. It felt good to find something in this strange valley that reminded him of her.

Legolas stood in the snow on the edge of the courtyard and looked around. The sky was an almost luminous kind of blue and the high clouds around the mountain peaks had pink edges. The dark pine trees on the cliffs around the house stirred in a light wind. At the southern end of the courtyard, by the bridge that spanned the river down in its deep gorge, stood two sentinels at watch. Otherwise the courtyard was empty.

Legolas breathed in the cool air and felt his heart lift a little. He could explore Rivendell on his own, watch the elves from a distance before he went to talk to them, and maybe when he understood the House of Elrond it would not feel so bad.

With the white fur cloak around him he rounded the north wing, following a shovelled path around the corner and in between high snow-covered hedges. The path led him past an old oak-tree that grew by itself by the hedge, and then into an open garden that overlooked a ravine. An overbuilt bridge stretched over it. Legolas leaned over the railing to watch the stream at the bottom of the ravine and wondered if perhaps there was a monster in it. Hethulin often said there were monsters in the Sea.

He walked through a garden embedded in deep snow, under apple trees who's naked branches whispered softly when he passed. He stopped to watch a large fountain covered in ice, and followed a narrow path with steps hewn out of the rock that led down to the river. He cautiously tried the ice, but jumped back when cracks opened under his foot and the ice moaned a warning.

He went up again and walked over an archery range almost hidden in the folds of the cliffs. From there he came to another practise field, a large empty area of tightly packed snow fenced off with rope and poles, that lay just behind the house. He crossed it warily, keeping an eye on the darkened windows ahead. A broad flight of stairs led into the house. Legolas sat down behind a broad pillar and pulled his knees up to his chest.

The sun was up by then to shine through a cleft in the mountains behind the house. An eagle glided on the winds up there, a ray of sunlight turning it's feathers to gold. Legolas watched it fly and wondered exactly where the High Pass was. Even from here, the mountains faded to blue before the mists shrouded them from view, and he could not see their highest peaks. He wondered how cold it was up there, and what Hethulin and Beren was doing, and Laeros, and Amlûg.

Then he looked down - and jumped.

An elf stood down at the practise field, his breath steaming and his back to the stair. Legolas had not heard him come.

He crept in behind the pillar and made himself as small as only a wood-elf can.

The elf was tall and muscular, with bright golden hair tied in a single braid, his hands bound with leather straps, and a plain white shirt tucked into his suede trousers. Findel had pointed him out the day before, in the Hall of Fire. He was Glorfindel, an elf-lord - and a balrog-slayer.

A balrog-slayer! Legolas eyed the sword in the elf's hand, hoping he would use it.

He was not disappointed.

Unaware that someone watched, Glorfindel raised the sword front of him. He held it like father did, with his hands in almost the same position around the handle as Legolas had been taught, and his knees were only slightly bent, so that it looked like he was not going to fight at all.

He moved the sword up, then down, very slowly, as if testing it's weight. Then he tilted it to the left, and then to the right. He turned his torso to the side, but kept the sword perfectly still as if there was an invisible cord that held it in one place, with the knob pointing down between his feet. He turned to the other side, and the sword still did not move. It caught the sunlight as it peered over the mountains, and Glorfindel's pale hair glinted.

He tilted the sword to the side, raised it a little - and then, just like that, he swept it down from the right to the left so quickly all Legolas saw was a flash of steel - then from the left to the right, and in a wide circle above his head.

He went still again.

Legolas held his breath.

The elf-lord set one foot in front of the other, a precise movement, calculated in every aspect, from the counter-weight of the other foot to the slight angling of the sword to prepare it for the next move. A moment later, he was not where he had just been. The sword whirled through the air, Glorfindel spun around, his feet left the ground -

Then he was still, straight, his pose mirroring the one he had had before.

But he had not just shifted. He stood several yards further from the stair than when he started, and Legolas had counted the sword's movements from one side to the other to at least four. Glorfindel had moved too fast even for a wood-elf's eyes.

Legolas let out the breath he had been holding, only to inhale sharply again.

Glorfindel threw the sword up in the air, caught it in his left hand, and launched into a series of moves - a dance, almost, though every movement was as slight and contained as possible - not stopping, not slowing down; the sword whirled this way and that, sometimes in his right and sometimes in his left hand, and Glorfindel moved with it. It looked like his feet never left the ground, but Legolas could tell that they did. He moved so fast that more than once, Legolas had no idea how he had come from one pose to the next.

He was so entranced by Glorfindel's swordplay he did not notice they had company until Glorfindel himself stopped, lowered his sword, and turned to the stair.

Legolas shrank further back into the shadow of the pillar.

Another elf stood on top of the stair. He was shorter than any noldor Legolas had seen, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, clad in a bright blue tunic, and with hair that barely reached past his square jaw. When he walked down towards the practise field he limped badly on one leg as if from an old injury, but he looked too young to have been in any war.

Glorfindel sheathed his sword and met the elf half-way up the stair. The elf bowed lightly.

"The twins are soon leaving, my lord, and they wanted a word beforehand. It is about the White Cou..."

"Hush, Echail, not out loud! We do not know who might hear us."

The elf flinched at the sharp tone, and blushed scarlet. Hastily he said: "No one's here anyway, my lord. I would have noticed. You would have noticed, my lord, no one can..."

"Do not be foolish", Glorfindel said, but then he smiled. "Let it go, Echail. I merely wish to be cautious. Just because no one has sneaked past me unnoticed for the last hundred years does not mean they never will."

Legolas smiled to himself. A balrog-slayer ought to know that a wood-elf is never spotted when he does not want too.

"Very well, my lord", Echail said, though he was still blushing. "Elladan and Elrohir are the the Blue Parlour. Shall I take your sword?"

"Please."

Glorfindel unclasped his sword-belt and handed it to Echail, who took it with the ease of someone used to swords. As he limped down the stair he swung his casually from side to side, and without turning Glorfindel said, "Echail...", and Echail laughed and threw the sword from one hand to the other, barely looking at it.

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. He stood on top of the stair and watched Echail as he walked over the practise fields and around the corner. Then, without turning, he said: "I will let you go for this time, little spy, but I'll have you know I do not like to have an audience when I practise. No one had successfully sneaked on me for the last hundred years. I intend to keep it that way."

* * *

Legolas did not move or breath until he was sure the elf-lord was far away. Then he got up and went inside the house - which was awake and filling with other elves now that the sun was up - and he did not slow down until he had found an empty corridor where he could gather his thoughts and his breath.

Perhaps he should have understood that a balrog-slayer wasn't going to drop his guard at any time ever. But if he couldn't trust his own senses - if he couldn't trust the skill to hide that the wood-elves had mastered - then what could he trust? At least Echail had not seen him, though he had stood even closer. Maybe it was just Glorfindel who was that good. It made him feel a little better.

When he looked up, two people were just rounding the corner at the far end of the corridor. One of them was Arahad.

The other one - Legolas knew instinctively who it was. He was as tall as Glorfindel and dark of hair like the other noldor, but his face was different; not precisely ageless, but not aged either, merely webbed with fine lines like the veins of last years' leaves. He wore heavy silks of purple and gold, and there was a streak of silver in his hair. His eyes were as dark as the night sky, and as deep as the sea.

Legolas darted out of their way and pretended to be very interested in the view from one of the windows. Maybe if he didn't look at them they wouldn't -

"You're up early, Legolas", Arahad said. "Did you sleep well?"

Legolas glanced up and nodded. Arahad didn't scare him any more, but the other one...

"This is the Greenwood child", Arahad said to the elf, who nodded as if he had understood that already. "Legolas, this is lord Elrond, the lord of Rivendell."

It was as Legolas had thought. Up close, lord Elrond looked almost as kind as he was intimidating - like father in a way, but also very different. And like his children he seemed sad; sad and old and weary. His mind seemed to be somewhere else, even when he spoke.

"Pleased to meet you, little one", he said and the fine lines around his eyes deepened when he smiled. "I should have welcomed you properly yesterday, but Arahad and I had a lot to discuss, and it was very late when we were done. So, as the lord of Rivendell I now welcome you most warmly to my House."

Legolas did not meet his gaze. He tried to remember what Tinuhen had said about greeting the elf-lord, but his head was empty.

"Elrond and I were just talking about you", Arahad said. "Or rather, about your companions. Would you like to tell us a bit more about them? Only in case there is anything we can do to help them that we have not already done."

"Do not be afraid", lord Elrond said. "Let us sit down here, so you do not have to look up at me. Sometimes, you know, I forget how tall I am until I have to bow down to speak to people."

It was probably a joke, but Legolas did not dare to laugh. Lord Elrond sat down in the window and beckoned at Legolas to sit beside him, while Arahad remained standing, leaning against the wall. He had changed into a dark velvet tunic with embroideries around the neckline, and his hair was no longer swept back by a leather strap, but loose and curling down his shoulders. Strangely, though he was only a ranger, Arahad looked a lord almost as much as the elves.

"Now", lord Elrond said, "Arahad told me about the avalanche in the mountains. There seem to be no way to advance the High Pass, nor will there be until spring when that snow has melted. This usually happens sooner or later every winter. However, there are many other ways over the Misty Mountains, as I am sure you have been told. Your leader, his name was Beren, correct? And Beren is also your father?"

Legolas hesitated. He wondered - not for the first time, and not for the last - if he should tell them who he truly was. Then he could tell them about the traitor, and maybe lord Elrond would know what to do. But hadn't Tinuhen said something about taking lord Elrond with surprise, when it was time for the meeting? And maybe the traitor would also hear about it, and both Tinuhen and Legolas would be in even greater danger.

At long last, Legolas nodded again.

"Legolas son of Beren, then", lord Elrond said, and he was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled and shook his head. "I see. Legolas, do you know how much supplies your father still has left? Did you bring wagons, or only pack-horses?"

Legolas started to shake his head, the realized lord Elrond had not asked a yes-or-no-question.

"Wagons", he said.

"There, I knew you could talk! So you had wagons. How many? Do you know if they were still full, or rather empty?"

"Two", Legolas said and decided he didn't want to seem like a person who couldn't talk. "I don't know... we were careful with the supplies because we didn't know if the High Pass would be open. But I don't think they have enough for very long."

"I see", said lord Elrond. "It will take them a while to reach the other passes, but with the éoréd all but gone from the Vale there should be plenty of game. Now that Framsburg is abandoned it is hardly safe to go north, and I doubt they will take the pass over the Gladden River."

"That leaves the Dimrill Stair", Arahad said softly. Lord Elrond's smile died away at the mention of that place. That was, Legolas remembered, the pass where lady Celebrían had been attacked.

"That pass is safe now", Arahad said. "As safe as it will be. How many warriors did Beren bring, Legolas?"

"Twenty-five."

"Good. Then there is nothing to worry about. Lord Elrond, we should send out someone to meet them. They may not know the way to Rivendell from the south. Have the twins left yet? I don't think they were heading for anywhere in particular - and they know that part of the mountains. We could ask them to go there."

"I would rather that the twins stayed here."

Arahad shook his head. "They will not stay, my lord, they never will. But if you send them to meet the wood-elves they will soon return with them."

"Ah."

It struck Legolas that Arahad must know the twins very well - and lord Elrond too, it seemed. He wondered why that was, and why he hadn't know the dunedain were this close to the noldor.

Then he thought about Tinuhen and was suddenly terrified that there was something he ought to do that he didn't know. After all, what did he know? What if everything depended on him telling lord Elrond the truth? But then again, what if it depended on him keeping it secret?

He knew nothing, and yet he felt as though so much was on his shoulders. Maybe it was his fault from the start, too. If he had just convinced Tinuhen to move...

"You look troubled, little one", lord Elrond said. "Do not worry too much. It will be alright."

"Will it?" Legolas asked. "Or do you just say that because you hope so?"

Lord Elrond tilted his head to the side. "What does your heart tell you?"

"Uh... I don't know." Legolas frowned. "But it was my fault, and if anyone should be in danger it should be..."

"No, no, no", lord Elrond said. "None of that. You could not have known what would happen. It was by chance you escaped, but who is to say chance did not have a reason to bring you here?"

"But..."

"It was wise of you to trust the rangers, child, even if your companions did not. Do not feel guilty that you could not protect them all. You can help them from here instead."

Legolas shivered, though he could not tell if it was from relief or something else. "Really?"

"Really", lord Elrond said. "The rangers are more experienced in the Mountains than any of your companions, I am sure, and so it was wise of you to trust them. In Greenwood, it would have been wise of a ranger to trust the counsel of wood-elves. That is wisdom - to know when you are wisest, and when you are not." A bell tolled somewhere in the house, and lord Elrond looked up. "That would be the breakfast bell. I shan't keep you any longer, Legolas. If you remember something more that might be of importance, do tell me, will you?"

The rangers were just about to leave for breakfast when Legolas returned to the guest quarters. Lord Elrond's words must have had some effect, for Legolas felt better now than he had before as if a heavy burden had left his chest; well enough to be hungry, anyway. He left his cloak in his room and followed the rangers to the dining hall.

"Where have you been?" Hawn asked. "I thought you were still asleep."

"Nowhere. Just walking." Legolas slowed down to admire the carvings on a door they passed, then scuttled away after the rangers when it opened. The door reminded him of something. "What does _one book is a greater treasure_... no, _the only treasure greater than one book is two books_ mean?"

"You've been to the Hall of Artefacts?" Findel said. "That's what the letters say over the door to Erestor's library."

"The Hall of Artefacts?"

"If you've seen it, you cannot have missed it. The Hall of Artefacts is where old and memorable things are kept. Tapestries, weapons and the like. I could show you sometime."

So that was all the old stuff in the hallway where he met the twins - memorable things. "So there's a library behind the doors?"

Findel nodded. "Erestor's library. You saw him yesterday - a tall elf, rather quiet, with silver chains in his hair. He's lord Elrond's chief counsellor, but he also maintains the library, and I'm sure he couldn't imagine a greater treasure than a couple more books."

They met many other elves as they walked, all of whom wished them a good morning, many throwing Legolas a curious glance. He thought they looked less mysterious and more like other elves in daylight, and he liked the way their laughter filled the house - there was even another elf who looked his age, but he saw her only briefly, and her family didn't stop to talk.

The dining hall was smaller than the Hall of Trees, but Legolas had never seen something so magnificent. Ornate stone pillars twisted their way up to a white stone ceiling, where they split into dozens of arches like feathers. The windows were made of tiny pieces of glass put together into pictures - beautiful maidens with flowing hair, noble knights on prancing horses - that splintered the mornings light into thousands of spots that fell over the elves seated below. There were four tables standing in a square, with one of them upon a dais before a great tapestry that shone in silver and gold. On the dais sat the lords and ladies, tall and proud and dark-haired, clad in the sober colours of early dawn.

The rangers sat below the great windows, and at first Legolas didn't know what to look at - all the food or all the elves. The food was laid out on silver platters and the elves were passing around jugs of sweet cider, baskets of freshly baked bread and bowls with dried berries for the porridge. There was even hot chocolate. Findel pointed out Erestor for him - he sat beside lady Arwen on the dais, and she was looking over his shoulder into the book he read. Glorfindel sat there too, as did Arahad. Behind lord Elrond's chair stood the elf named Echail with his hands behind his back.

Legolas leaned towards Hawn. "Who is that? The elf behind lord Elrond. The short one."

"Oh. That's Echail - lord Elrond's valet. His... assistant, I guess you might say. He helps him with all sorts of things, and lord Elrond trusts him very much."

"He looks so grumpy, though."

"Well, he can be. But he's a cheerful fellow when you get to know him. And he's one of Rivendell's best sword-fighters - or was, before he got injured."

"How'd that happen?"

Hawn was quiet for a moment. "I shouldn't tell. It's not my place. It's a long story."

Secrets, Legolas thought. Wherever he went there were more secrets. And he was no better than anyone else.

"That's right", Hawn said, "did somebody tell you that we are leaving today? Just after breakfast, Arahad says. We weren't meant to but the twins have heard rumours of goblins close to the Men's villages and if that's true we have to do something about it."

"Some strange winter this is", one of the other rangers said. "Goblins out of the mountains, wood-elves in them. And no Dorwinion!"

The rangers all agreed that the lack of Dorwinion wine lately was a tragedy, even though, as Hawn pointed out, Dorwinion wasn't for drinking in large amounts the way the rangers preferred to drink. Father had complained about it too, many times - not that he couldn't drink it in large quantities, because he could, but because there was so little of it nowadays.

"I bet lord Elrond has some secret stash somewhere", one of the rangers said. "Hidden away in his chambers..."

Legolas leaned back in his chair and listened to their talking. To his left, a couple of elves were talking about trading, comparing arrow-tips from Lothlorien to those from Rivendell, and agreeing that the ones from Rivendell were far better even if the Lothlorien archers might be more skillful themselves. Legolas blew on his chocolate and wondered if the Lórien archers were better than those of Greenwood.

"Here, Legolas", Findel said suddenly. "Can you read?"

"Uh - yes. Why?"

"I thought wood-elves couldn't read."

"Oh. Uh, most of us can't. But I can."

Findel looked pleased. "That's a very good thing, to be able to read. Not everyone is so lucky."

"Why? Reading is boring. I don't like books."

"You don't? Oh, don't let Erestor here you say that. He would be so sad. And such a waste, when you can read and all!" He thought for a moment, then pushed his empty plate away and stood up. "Will you stay here for a moment? I'll be back soon."

"Is it about books?" Hawn called after him. "I bet it's about books."

It was about books. When Findel returned he was hiding one behind his back, and when Legolas had finished eating he showed it to him.

"I doubt you will ever be bored of Rivendell", he said, "but if you do, I think you might like this. There is no one like it, I think, in Erestor's library."

The book was thin and rather small, with a tattered leather cover, and bold green letters on the front:

_Of archery and cleverness:_

_Tales from Doriath_

_A Collection of Traditional Stories Gathered by Nibennel Rain-hunter_

"From Doriath?"

"It's not the usual sad tales you would expect from the First Age. They're very entertaining - and very old, of course. I think you might like them."

The book had been read many times, and there were pine needles and grains of sand between every page, as if it had also been stuffed deep down in a bag along with dirty clothes and spare boots and left there for many a travel. Legolas flipped page after page. At the start of each chapter there was a picture, so skillfully made that even if it was not bigger than the palm of his hand, it showed the details on every tree, every feather on the archer's arrows, every scale on the fire-breathing dragon and every coin dropping out of the slit in the thief's leather bag. Some pages were framed by leaves, some by flames or stars.

"I didn't know there were books like this", Legolas said. "I wonder why we don't have it in Greenwood."

"Maybe no one thought it was important enough."

Legolas was about to hand the book back, but Findel shook his head.

"I've read it a hundred times already. You can borrow it."

"Thank you", Legolas said, and though he had never imagined he would be thankful for a book, he meant it. "I don't read very fast, though."

"As long as you read at all that shouldn't be a problem, should it? Maybe you'll learn to read faster, and then you won't find it so boring."

"Well, maybe!"

The rest of the morning, though, the book lay waiting for him inside his room, and Legolas helped the rangers pack. He wanted to ask them to stay, but he pretended he did not care much that they left.

The rangers left an hour before noon, and the twins with them. They let Marigold stay behind, because they did not need her for a pack-horse this time, and Arahad wanted her to rest.

"Maybe you could take her out riding someday", Findel said, as they walked down the stair to the courtyard, where the other horses already waited for them. "She'll be glad to get out. You can't leave the valley on your own, of course, but maybe lord Elrond will let you follow some other elves, on a hunt or suchlike. Do you hunt?"

"Not on horseback. Mother says when I'm older."

Arahad walked over to them with a pair of saddlebags flung over his shoulder. He had changed from the velvet tunic to his usual clothes, and his hair was kept from his face by the leather strap again. But he was smiling, and it made him look young.

"Erestor keeps insisting we should pass by Netherford and buy him some more ink", he said. "And I keep assuring him that he will find no ink in Netherford until the Midwinter Market."

"What's the Midwinter Market?" Legolas asked.

"Oh, a sight to see", Findel said. "It's one of the biggest markets held between Rohan and Bree nowadays, and the only one I know of held in winter. Strangely, because Netherford is a very small village. But it so happens to lay by the only ford north of Tharbad, expect for our ford of course, but few knows about that."

"Our ford?"

"Over Bruinen. The river. Here, someone must take you out and show you the land! Arahad, we should talk to..."

"Elrond knows how to take care of his guests", Arahad said. "And there is no time. We must be off."

One by one the rangers mounted their horses and took farewell of their friends among the elves. Elladan and Elrohir were already mounted, and lady Arwen stood between them in a long, fur-trimmed coat, but Legolas could not hear what they talked about. Findel promised that if they heard anything of Tinuhen, he would make sure Legolas got the news as soon as possible; Hawn tousled hair hair with his four-fingered hand and said: "See you in a couple of weeks, little one."

Legolas looked after them as they rode over the southern bridge and in between the pine trees. Then they were gone. He wrapped his arms around him. Lady Arwen bowed her dark head and gave a deep sigh, as if she bore the troubles of the whole world on her slender shoulders.

"Are you coming in?"

Legolas turned. The boy who had talked to him in the Hall of Fire came walking over the courtyard with his arms full of heavy books.

"I'm taking these to Erestor", the boy said - was Lindir his name? "He lives in the south wing, but Glorfindel has been borrowing them. Would you like to come?"

"Uh..."

"I mean", Lindir said, "if you don't have anything else to do."

"Well, I don't."

Lindir smiled. It was an easy smile that made it hard not to smile back. The topmost books started sliding from his grip, and he had to lean backwards to catch them. "If you want I could show you around Rivendell some day. Or I could show you my lute! I want to be a minstrel when I grow up, but as of now I'm running errands for lord Elrond, mostly, the ones Echail is too important to do - Echail is my brother - oh no..." Some of the books started sliding again, but Legolas caught them before they fell in the snow.

"Thank you. I don't know what Glorfindel's doing with all these books - he never reads much. Erestor thinks he uses them as paper weights."

"Is Echail your brother?"

"Yeah - but he isn't very much like me."

"Do you want me to help you?" Legolas asked, shifting the books over to a more comfortable grip.

"Yes, thank you! It's not far. This way."

"If you're running errands for lord Elrond", Legolas said, trudging after Lindir, "then you know a lot about him, don't you? I mean - things not everyone knows."

"Well, I do. But Echail knows more. Mother says lord Elrond would trust me a lot more if I didn't gossip so much, but I don't - it's just that I know a lot that goes on in Rivendell. For example, no one is talking about this - this way, down here - for example I know there'll be a secret meeting of sorts here in Rivendell, and I also know lord Elrond has tried to make the twins stay more at home, but they don't want to - and some people say they want to get themselves killed, but mother doesn't want me to say that."

"Now you did say it, though."

"Well, so I did."

Lindir talked so quickly and so much that by the time he actually fell silent, Legolas had forgotten to ask more about that secret meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay - I unexpectedly got a job and didn't have as much time to write as I would have needed! I wanted to rewrite this chapter a lot more than I ended up doing, because I think that story-wise it would have been better, even if the chapter itself might be all right. I decided in the end to leave it, partly because I don't want to leave you waiting, and partly because I don't know the chapter needs rewriting, it's just a feeling I have, and whether you guys like it or not I will have learnt something from it.
> 
> The good news are that, while these last few chapters has been pretty difficult to write, the next ones will not need as much editing so I should be able to update on time and still be satisfied with them. Thank you for your patience, and please tell me what you think! :)


	12. Messages

"Like a cat hiding under the bed in a new home", Glorfindel said.

"What?"

"The Greenwood child."

"Ah", lord Elrond said and glanced up from his letter; his mind had been far away. "I have thought the same. Though I get the feeling he is wary rather than scared - acquainting himself with his surroundings from a safe spot, rather than hiding. "

"Why, that was what I meant. Like a cat."

"And he has some spirit. More than one would think on first glance."

"He would make a fine warrior."

"Is that all you ever think of?"

"It is strange, though..." Glorfindel peered through the window, half-hidden behind the curtains. An old oak grew in the garden below, and they had seen Legolas climb into it, but then he had become quite invisible. Maybe Glorfindel with his eagle-sight could still see him.

"What is strange?"

"I cannot possibly have seen the child before, yet he is eerily familiar."

Lord Elrond had not paid his young guest that much attention. He should have - he had always went to great lengths making sure his guests felt welcome in his house - but there was too much else, and he had little strength for anything. What could a stray child with an odd name possibly matter? "Many children with blue eyes and fair hair look more or less the same."

"Fair hair", Glorfindel repeated thoughtfully. "That is not..."

"There is another matter that concerns me more", lord Elrond said. He added a last twirl to his name at the bottom of the parchment, then carefully sprinkled sand over the wet ink. "Does it not seem odd to you that the Greenwood elves would chose to visit us just now? Without message or forewarning - and so close to Midwinter..."

"It does seem odd. I have been thinking about that."

"Perhaps we should take it as a sign. As Radagast have often said..."

"We do not know if we can trust the Elven King and Queen", Glorfindel reminded him. "Their loyalty lie with their kingdom and little else. Even if we did chose to trust them, we know very little of their emissary - this Beren is the guard's captain, I think, but that is about all I know of him. Where does his loyalty lie? With Greenwood, surely."

Lord Elrond made a half cylinder of the parchment and poured the overflowing sand from it back into the jar. He blew the last grains away, folded the letter neatly and melted a wax stick over the candle on his desk.

Glorfindel was right, of course. They had discussed it many times before, and always came to the same conclusion. From the very beginning they had decided to keep Greenwood out - but lord Elrond was not as certain anymore. He was not certain about anything. Once he had had the strength to make decisions of war; now he was weak and afraid, and he did not dare to decide anything.

One spring eve almost two years ago, and elf had come into Rivendell, not as young as Legolas, but with the same haunted eyes. We were attacked, he had said. We were attacked and they took her. They took the Silver queen.

"Elrond."

"Ah?"

Glorfindel took his hand and guided it away from the parchment. The melted wax had left stains all over it.

"Forgive me", Elrond said. "I was lost in thought."

"I know", Glorfindel said, and it was all he needed to say. They knew each other too well to put everything in words. Glorfindel was a comfort only by being there and knowing where Elrond's thoughts had strayed.

"I shall have to rewrite this", Elrond said and put the wax stick down on a copper plate.

"Let Echail do it."

Elrond stiffened.

"He is so eager to please you, my lord. Let him try."

"Echail writes too fast, it will not look proper." But he _did_ try, and Saruman could decipher the most cryptic of messages; surely he would be able to read a young man's sloppy hand-writing. "Very well. He can do it. What were we talking about?"

"Greenwood, my lord."

Elrond walked over to the window. The oak stood there under the snow, but if someone still sat in it, he could not tell. Was that not the tree Celebrían had loved so much? But she had loved all trees.

"The more I think about it", Elrond said, "the more I wonder what right we have to exclude Greenwood. It is dangerous to believe that all who do not think like us are wrong. We have too much power to be selfish. Greenwood is loyal only to herself , yes, but are we not loyal only to us? The wood-elves need help, and if we should believe Radagast that need is dire indeed."

"Radagast and his ramblings about wraiths and sorcery?"

"Radagast is a wizard."

"Of birds and beasts, not dark magic."

"Of forests", lord Elrond said. "Ah, but what use is there in arguing? We will not let this Beren join us, but he may be able to tell us more about the Shadow, and so his visit will not be fruitless. The twins should reach them shortly, if the weather does not turn worse in the south."

A sudden sharp screech made Elrond turn back to the window. Two birds circled the air above the garden; a small bird of pray and a larger, black bird that Elrond could not name. The larger bird dove onto the smaller, and the smaller screeched again and wheeled out of reach.

"How strange", Glorfindel said. "I have never seen birds fight like that."

"And there is our Greenwood friend", said lord Elrond. The child was no longer invisible; he stood almost at the end of a long branch, high up in the oak, with his face turned upwards to the duelling birds. It looked terribly risky, but the elfling was sure on his feet. He shouted something that sounded like "here, Quick-wing!" and the smaller bird dove towards him.

The black one shrieked furiously, then threw itself out of the way as a snowball - expertly thrown - flew through the air and missed it with a hair's breadth. Legolas stooped down on the branch for another handful of snow, but by then the black bird had accepted its defeat and retreated over the house.

"Of all odd things I have seen", said Glorfindel.

"Indeed."

"It is as they say. When the skies are seas and the mountains grass, then the wood-elves will become boring."

* * *

"What did you do to upset that other bird?" Legolas chided. "Did you steal his food?"

"Not steal, no!" Quick-wing replied angrily. "Was looking for little elf, yes, looking for you, and foul bird attack! No warning! No honour! Like cowardly magpie!"

"I never saw it clearly. What kind of bird was it?"

But Quick-wing, who sat in Legolas' arms with his feathers all tousled, was too shaken to say more than that the bird was foul and evil. Legolas sat down on the edge of a fountain, put the sparrow hawk beside him, broke the thin layer of ice and let Quick-wing drink from his cupped hands. His beautiful golden beak had a scratch mark on it, from a talon that very nearly ripped his eye out.

Legolas left him to pick up _Tales from Doriath_ , which he had left in the tree when he heard the birds fighting. He brushed snow from the cover and tucked it inside his tunic, hoping it would not be more ruined than it already was. Then he went back to Quick-wing, in case the black bird would return.

He had spent most of the afternoon in the tree, which grew by itself by a hedge in the garden, near a path that people often walked on. He had read of the Adventures of His Squirrellness Bron, and of Amdir the Archer, who bravely went into a dragon's lair to slay the dragon that had burnt his village. He had lain on a thick branch and looked down on the elves that walked past beneath him, listening to snatches of their conversations. He had not let anyone see him. It wasn't like he was afraid anymore, but that morning he had talked to Lindir and one of his friends and it had gone... terribly wrong.

Not at first, though. Legolas had followed them to a room near Erestor's library, which was called the Archives, and they had sat there surrounded by piles of books and papers and talked about a lot of things. Lindir had been sorting papers in alphabetical order, and the girl, who was called Ninneth, sat on the table with a spindle and distaff. A small lantern (they hadn't been allowed to bring an unprotected candle into the room) and a cluttered window had been the only sources of light.

They'd had a lot of fun at first, but whenever Legolas didn't know something the others knew, or pronounced something differently, they found it very funny and had to comment on it. Even if they had meant nothing by it it had made Legolas feel like they were mocking him. When Ninneth asked if it was true they didn't have pineapples in Greenwood, and Legolas asked what pineapples were, she giggled instead of explaining. And then Lindir asked, without reason, if Legolas knew that some people called Greenwood _Mirkwood_ nowadays.

"I do know that", Legolas said irritably, "but it's a stupid name and they should know better."

"We're not trying to tease you, Legolas", Ninneth said. She was the youngest elf in Rivendell, and her dark hair was so curly it stood out from her head like the spikes of a hedgehog, but she seemed kind-hearted enough when she wasn't laughing at him. "Do you know how to hunt and such?"

Legolas lifted his chin. "I can track a deer from a mile away, and I can set a snare that not even an otter can find. I could show you some day."

"Oh, please do!"

"You know what?" Lindir said. "If you don't have anything to do this afternoon, you should join us for Erestor's lesson. We were just waiting for him."

"Lesson?" Legolas said, oblivious as to how someone could make such a suggestion and look like it was a great idea.

The other elves laughed.

"Yes, lesson! Don't worry, it doesn't matter if you don't know anything. Erestor just tells us interesting things about the world and things we should know, and Beleriand and Valinor and how clocks work and why water turns to ice, you know, such things. Sometimes we read together."

"Lessons are boring."

"How do you know, have you ever had one?" Lindir asked, as if Legolas appeared so uneducated to him that seemed impossible. "Erestor is very learned, and it is important to know about the world. You don't even know what a pineapple is!"

Legolas blushed scarlet.

"I didn't mean it like that", Lindir hastily amended. "No one's going to tease you or anything. It's just - I mean, don't you want to know about Beleriand?"

"Sometimes we are in the library", Ninneth said, "and look at books and maps. Erestor said you probably don't know how to read, but that's fine. We can read to you."

"Erestor has talked about me?"

"No, but he's talked a lot about Greenwood", Ninneth said. "How you live in huts or in the trees. I don't mind. I think it's interesting."

Legolas felt his cheeks turn hot, and his breathing became shallow.

"He's promised to show us the astronomy tower some day", Lindir said. "Do you know what an astronomy tower is?"

Legolas turned to him.

"Just because I don't know about pineapples and astronomy towers", he said, "doesn't mean I don't know anything. _You_ can't speak to trees or birds. And I bet you've never been anywhere near a Shadow!"

Lindir paled, and Ninneth's dark-brown eyes became wide and a bit shiny. "We didn't mean..."

"I don't care what you meant", Legolas said. "I know what you thought. You thought you're better wood-elves is lower than you in every way. But you're wrong. You're all wrong. No, I don't want any lessons from Erestor, because I don't take lessons from noldor!"

Legolas hadn't waited to see their reaction. He had left them in the Archives and went straight back to his room, but then he's been afraid they would look for him there, so he took _Tales from Doriath_ from under his pillow and headed into the garden. There he had crept into the lonely oak, and he he sat there reading and watching elves walk by, bent on their own duties.

He supposed Lindir and Ninneth were at their lesson by now, and he didn't know if he was jealous. When father told him the noldor were to teach him things, hadn't he been devastated? But it didn't sound like Erestor were teaching etiquette and princely things. Actually, since no one knew Legolas was a prince, there was no reason for anyone to teach him princely things. Maybe it would be different.

And maybe it would not. It was too late now anyway.

Sitting in the great orc and listening to snatches of conversations beneath it, Legolas had come to think of what Hawn said that first night - that these elves were the same elves that fought great battles long ago. Glorfindel the balrog-slayer was not the only one who had been to war. Lord Elrond had been a great commander once. And if the elf-lords were commanders then, the common elves might have been soldiers; so maybe the women who chatted so happily with each other had once stood in the front row, but Legolas would never know, and their dresses hid any battle-scars. Legolas thought about this, and he thought about how lord Elrond gazed out his window as if he wished to see something he did not see, and how lady Arwen looked so lonely even though she was surrounded by others, trailing her hand along a snow-covered edge without listening to her chatting maids. Legolas thought about it all though he did not really know what exactly he meant by thinking of it - and before he could figure it out, Quick-wing turned up, and then that strange black bird.

Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest and turned to Quick-wing. He looked a bit less tired.

"Why did you look for me?"

Quick-wing stood up on his little legs and hopped over to Legolas. "Little elf's brother has sent message. Important message, yes!"

"Tinuhen!" Legolas forgot everything else. "Have you met him? Is everyone all right?"

"Has met, yes. Elves cold, tired, not much prey. Long way to fly! One elf not flying, you understand?"

Legolas inhaled sharply. "Someone's dead!"

"No, not dead, no! Will fly again, maybe, you understand?"

"Wounded", Legolas whispered. "Alright. I understand. Someone's wounded but no one's dead. Are they on their way?"

Quick-wing nodded. "Coming other way but will take time. Very slow. They have moving... moving tree, yes, but very slow."

"Moving - you mean a wagon? Well, it's good they have one. Then they have some supplies, too, and maybe blankets and fire-wood."

"Other thing", Quick-wing said. "Other thing very important, yes? Little elf listen closely."

"I'm listening", Legolas said, wondering when people would stop insisting that he was little.

"Elf says little elf must be careful. Elf says, someone in valley not to be trusted, yes? Someone in valley wants ill."

"He's already told me that."

"But must remember! Must not forget! Very important. Must look up always, yes, else cruel eagle take him! Talons in his back, yes?"

"I am careful", Legolas said. "But I don't know who I'm supposed to be careful for. Do you know who it is I cannot trust?"

Quick-wing fluffed his feathers importantly, then looked around is if there might be someone in the garden listening to them. All Legolas could see where a couple of elves who shovelled a path between the hedges, and lady Arwen, who stood on a balcony and watched the sky, and none seemed to be listening.

"Eagle looks much like little elf. Is kind to elf, doesn't show talons. Eagle very dangerous. Little elf forgets to watch his back, there are talons."

"All right", Legolas said with a sigh. "Then I'll be wary of everyone. Expect for Lindir, I mean, he is almost my age, he cannot be a traitor. And Glorfindel is a balrog-slayer. And lord Elrond..."

"Tsk, tsk", Quick-wing said. "Little elf easy prey."

Legolas glowered at him, but he wondered if it was true. Maybe he really should not trust anyone. But then he'd be alone - alone and frightened.

"Now for messages!" Quick-wing said. "One for little elf, other one little elf must give to elf-lord, no one else, must not lose!" He stuck out his leg so Legolas could unfasten the messages tied to it. It was a piece of parchment rolled tightly and sealed with the Greenwood seal that father had given Tinuhen before he left. Then Quick-wing lifted his left wing and showed the tiny parchment tied to it.

"This only for you. Little elf hide well or put in fire, yes!"

It was Legolas turn to warily look around. One of the elves shovelling looked his way, but he only smiled and waved and returned to his work. Legolas unrolled the little piece of parchment.

_Dear brother._ _I am writing this in the hopes that Quick-wing will find you alive and well in Rivendell. He met us on the day we left the High Pass and will serve as our messenger for as long as it is needed. We all survived the avalanche and will move on to another pass, though I cannot tell you which, in case somebody is on the lookout for messengers and hunts Quick-wing down. He is aware of the risks and will be careful but one can never know._

_I am sorry for calling you an idiot before you left. It was inconsiderate and I cannot tell you how much I have regretted my rash words. I trust you will be in good care of lord Elrond, but you must be on your guard._

_Do you remember that I told you to tell the rangers Beren is your father? If you have told lord Elrond the same, I want you to keep it at that. The letter you will give to him is signed by Beren, and there was no reason to mention my name. If you have told him otherwise, then what is done is done. Either way, please be careful._

_Yours sincerely_

_T_

Maybe he hadn't dared to believe it even when Quick-wing told him so, because it wasn't until Legolas read the words - Tinuhen's own words, in his own hand, written with that blue ink he loved so much - that the truth sank in. They were alive. All of them. And Tinuhen was not even angry.

Legolas didn't know if he wanted to cry or dance with joy. He sat for a minute simply staring at the letter. When Quick-wing impatiently pinched his arm with his beak, he took a deep breath.

"I guess it's safer if I don't write anything back. Then no one can steal the message." He tucked both messages inside his tunic. "Tell Tinuhen that I'm fine but I don't know who the traitor is. And tell him that no one knows who I am. I think that's what he meant. He must have written so that if anyone else found the letter they wouldn't understand, but I think I do. As long as they don't know I'm the prince, or that Tinuhen is here, maybe the traitor will stay away."

"Little elf clever", Quick-wing said with a sharp hawk-smile. "Maybe not so easy prey, no? Eagle thinks you're only finch, not much meat, not worth hunting." He looked up - and his eyes narrowed. "Filthy foul bird! Spies on me, coward!"

Legolas followed his gaze. The black bird sat on the roof-top and honed its feathers innocently, but now and then it glanced down at them.

"Will he attack you again?"

"Can try if it wants! No one faster than Quick-wing, no one can catch me! Little elf see why must be careful, hmm? Eagles everywhere."

"Will you return?"

"Will try. But not here, no? Too risky. I come to forest, little elf is there, yes? Three, four days?"

"I will be there."

Legolas looked after Quick-wing as he flew away, ready with a snow-ball that would at least distract the black bird if need be. But the black one kept honing its feathers and pretended to not be interested at all. When Quick-wing had disappeared behind the house, Legolas sat for a while by the fountain, pondering the message and lord Elrond. He didn't know where lord Elrond could be found, nor if he would be allowed to meet him.

But there was one who'd know. All Legolas had to do was become friends with him again.

* * *

He found Lindir and Ninneth back in the Archives, where Ninneth was still spinning yarn and Lindir still sorting papers. Legolas stopped in the doorway.

"Uh... hello."

They looked up.

"I'm sorry for what I said before", Legolas said. "I know you didn't mean to be rude. I shouldn't have become so angry."

Lindir was quiet for a moment, then put the papers he was holding away and said: "I don't think you're the one who should apologize. _I_ am sorry. I didn't realize you'd be sad, but I should have!"

Ninneth nodded. "And I shouldn't have said that about pineapples. I'm sure you know a lot of things I don't know. You know how to talk to trees! Have you talked to a tree here?"

Overwhelmed, Legolas could only smile at first. He had not expected they would forgive him so easily.

"I have", he said. "To elm-by-the-window and lonely-oak-by-the-hedge and I'm sure they'd talk to you too if I asked them but there's something I have to do first. I've got a message that I have to give to lord Elrond and I don't know where to find him."

Ninneth's eyes widened. "A message to lord Elrond? Where from?"

Legolas took the parchment out from under his tunic and showed them the Greenwood seal. "A bird gave it to me."

The other elves looked awed when they heard that.

"It may be better if you talk to Erestor, though", Lindir said. "He usually has more time.

Everyone can speak to lord Elrond, but he's often busy, only he's too kind to say it."

"I was told to give this to lord Elrond and no one else."

"Oh." Lindir looked curiously at he letter, but for once he did not ask. "Then I suppose it's best you do as you're told. Can I finish sorting these papers first? I'm nearly done."

Legolas tucked the little roll of parchment inside his tunic again and pulled another stool to the table. "I can help if you show me how to do."

"You need to be able to read, though."

Legolas grinned. "I can read."

Lindir looked both surprised and embarrassed to hear that, but then he smiled and showed Legolas how to sort the papers depending on the date written in the lower left corner and the title. When they were done he insisted that Legolas should at least remove his cloak, if he didn't want to change into some finer clothes, and then he took leaves and a large copper-brown hawk-feather out of Legolas' hair. They laughed a long time over the spider that had thought the fur on the neckline of Legolas' tunic was an excellent winter home, and on the way to lord Elrond's study set it down behind a tapestry where it would be warm and undisturbed.

Lindir took him up a lot of stairs and through corridors that, on the second and third floor above the dining hall, became broad and brightly lit, with large windows and silver chandeliers, and tapestries woven with gold-thread. At the end of one corridor was a tall door that did not really look like much, expect the oak wood was newly polished and the frame very richly carved, and an elf in a fine blue tunic stood outside it.

"There's Echail", Lindir said as they peered around the corner. "I suppose lord Elrond is in there, then, but maybe he doesn't want to be disturbed. You'll have to ask Echail."

"Will he let me in?"

"Yeah. He's grumpy sometimes but he's kind. I can follow you if you want."

"No, it's fine", Legolas said automatically, though a moment later he realized he had wanted Lindir to follow. Lord Elrond was very kind, but also very intimidating.

"Come down to the Archives later, if you want", Lindir said. "Good luck!"

Legolas took a deep breath, rounded the corner and walked down the corridor to the door where Echail stood. To his left, the windows let in the afternoon sun through almost perfectly even glass, and under his feet the soft carpet was woven to look like a flowing river, with flowers edging it. It was not as heavily decorated, as richly coloured or as big as the royal quarters at home; but it had another sort of luxury that reminded Legolas very much of Tinuhen. Maybe these pale colours and elegant lines were what one would call sophisticated.

Echail looked up as he approached. "Aren't you the kid from Greenwood? You should not be here. This is..."

"I need to speak to lord Elrond."

Echail raised an eyebrow. His short hair was braided so tightly it looked painful, and he was leaning against the wall so that he didn't have to put any weight on his bad leg. "What about?"

"I have a message for him", Legolas said and held the letter up for him to see. Echail reached for it, but Legolas didn't let go.

"I will give it to him."

"I will give it to him myself."

"Lord Elrond is not to be disturbed", Echail said patiently. "He has asked me specifically to stand here and make sure that no one disturbs him unless it is truly important, and..."

"But this is important!"

"Yes, elfling, and that is why I will give him that letter. I will give it to him at once, do not worry, but you do not have to take his time. Give me that letter and be off."

Legolas hesitated. Echail reached for the letter again.

"I was told to give it to lord Elrond and nobody else."

"Told by whom? Where did you get it from?"

"Quick-wing gave it to me."

"And who is Quick-wing?"

"He's a sparrow hawk", Legolas said. "He belongs to Radagast, but the letter is from - "

"A sparrow hawk", Echail repeated slowly, as if he could not believe his ears. "Is this a joke?"

"No."

"I am afraid lord Elrond does not speak bird. Is that why you have to give it to him personally, so you can translate?"

"That's not funny!"

Echail snorted. "Then tell me why Radagast would send a message to _you_ when he could have sent it straight to lord Elrond? Are you the Greenwood emissary perhaps, and your father just here to escort you?"

"What do you think then, that I'm lying?"

"I do."

"Well I'm not!"

"Then prove it!"

"You prove that I'm lying!" Legolas said and tried to dodge past Echail - maybe, since the older elf had a bad leg, he could get past him quickly - but it was a mistake. Echail seized him by the arm before Legolas could back away again.

"Now you listen here!" he snapped, and he was furious. "It's one thing to ask nicely, one think to try to argue, but now you've gone too far! Do you think lord Elrond will listen to you when you come barging in when he doesn't want to be disturbed?"

Legolas tried to squirm free, but Echail was too strong. He scowled at the floor. "No I don't."

"Then don't be such a fool as to try. There will be consequenses, do you hear me?" Echail took a deep breath, then nodded over Legolas' head to the end of the corridor. "I saw you talking to Lindir over there. I'm not surprised you could trick him into thinking a bird named Quick-wing gave you a message from Radagast, but you're not fooling me. You're a liar and a shameless one - you just want attention, don't you? Well you'll have it if you go on like this, but not the kind of attention you want. Lord Elrond's been very kind to you, do you know, given you clothes you don't even use - and this is how you thank him?"

"But..."

"I have been asked to guard this door and that's what I will do. I wouldn't have this job if I didn't know what I was doing. You stay away from here and you stay away from my little brother, you -"

"Echail", someone said calmly, and they both froze. "I think you are hurting the boy."

Echail loosened his grip, enough to let Legolas break free. Legolas demonstratively rubbed his arm.

"What is all this about?" Erestor asked and looked from one elf to the other. The silver chains in his hair clinked softly against each other, and his long cornflower-blue robe billowed to a rest when he stopped before them. He did not look angry - only sad and disappointed. "You are both old enough to not be screaming and shouting outside lord Elrond's study when he needs peace and quiet. Echail?"

Had Legolas not disliked Echail so much just then, he might have admired him for answering so calmly. "The child says he has a letter for lord Elrond, my lord, and I said I would give it to him, since he does not want to be disturbed, but he will not let it go. Then he said..."

"A letter?" Erestor said and turned to Legolas. "From whom?"

"It's - it's from Beren", Legolas said. "My father. I got it just now. A bird brought it to me. It's Radagast's bird but..."

"Ah. I was wondering if not the folk of the woodland realm would think of using birds as messengers."

Legolas shot Echail a triumphant glance. The older elf scowled at him.

"But Legolas", Erestor went on, "Echail is quite capable of delivering that letter to lord Elrond, and as he said, it is his duty to make sure no one disturbs the lord. Why can you not give it to him?"

"Because Quick-wing told me not to. He said father had said I must give it to lord Elrond only."

"Is it sealed?"

"...Yes."

"Echail would never break a sealed letter unless lord Elrond told him to", Erestor said. "He knows his duty as you know yours. You are right to listen to your father, but I do not think he meant his orders to be taken that literally."

Legolas glanced up at Echail, who was tactful enough not to smile. Now he felt very stupid.

"I am sure, though, if you are very concerned, that Elrond will not mind if you give it to him personally."

Legolas shook his head. He gave the letter to Echail.

"Thank you", Echail said gracefully. "I shall give this very important letter to lord Elrond at once."

Erestor followed him into the room, and smiled at Legolas before he closed the door. Legolas waited for a moment outside it, then left to search for Lindir and Ninneth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so grateful for the positive comments on the last chapter, especially since I didn't really like it myself ^u^ Next chapter I feel more confident about so I think the troublesome part of this fanfiction is over (for now)!
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


	13. The Way is Shut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry ;_;
> 
> I really meant to update on time, but I simply worked too much, I've been so tired, and this chapter needed more editing than I thought. I was way too optimistic when I published the last chapter! There is still a lot of work to be done on this story, and now that it's summer I don't feel like spending all my free time inside by my computer. Even if I did, I don't think there's any way I could keep posting every week.
> 
> So I've decided that from now one, I'll update once every second week instead. I'm really sorry, I hate to make this change in the middle of the story, but I have to. As you know if you're reading my author's notes I haven't been satisfied with the last chapters and felt stressed to post them. I want the chapters to be as good as possible, and for that I need more time.
> 
> I hope you understand why I have to do this. You deserve a good story, not a rushed one!

Only a few days had passed since the twins' departure when they returned. They were unexpected. One morning a guard came running over the southern bridge, across the courtyard and up the stair to the entrance hall, calling for lord Glorfindel, and shortly after the twins arrived.

Legolas saw them from afar from a balcony over the courtyard, where he was perched on the railing while Lindir practised his lute and Ninneth was spinning thread as usual. It was Ninneth who pointed out the spot beyond the pine forest - across the deep part of the valley, where the ground rose again - where the path leading down into it was visible. It was a narrow and treacherous path just like the northern one that Legolas had taken with the rangers, and the riders could only be seen as two small spots moving down. Before long they vanished from view behind the trees.

Not long after that Glorfindel stepped down the stair, set his hands on his hips, then walked to and fro on the courtyard with his pale hair flowing in the wind. He walked like that until the twins finally emerged from the forest and rode over the southern bridge.

They wore sun-bleached black cloaks over their notched armour, had bows and quivers strapped to their saddles, and their horses were stumbling. Glorfindel hurried to meet them. One of them met him halfway across the bridge, his voice loud and angry though Legolas could not hear the words. The other - Legolas could not tell their faces apart, but he had a feeling it was Elrohir, because Elladan was the one who seemed to talk the most - stood quiet and dark-eyed beside them, fingering the hilt of his sword. After a while they followed the elf-lord inside.

It became quiet, as if nothing had happened, but something was wrong.

"They were supposed to wait for Beren", Legolas said, twisting on the railing to look over the courtyard, as if the answers would be written there in the snow. "Why did they come back without him? They should have waited!"

"Careful, you'll fall!" Ninneth said. "And don't worry. I'm sure it's alright."

"What if they couldn't find them?"

"Of course they could", said Lindir. "The twins are the most skillfull trackers in all of Middle Earth. They can find anyone."

"So why did they come back alone?" Legolas asked.

Lindir had no answer.

But the twins themselves had, and Legolas did not have to wait all that long to hear it. Not half an hour had passed before Erestor found them on the balcony and asked to speak to Legolas in private. Legolas followed him from the balcony and into the corridor inside. Erestor did not speak at first, merely walked down the corridor with his lavender-blue robe billowing about his feet and his dark head bowed in thought. Legolas had not spoken to him much since the elf-lord saved him from Echail, but whenever they met somewhere Erestor smiled at him and said hello.

Now, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose from its chain behind his ear, Erestor said: "Forgive me, Legolas, for making you leave your friends and then not saying a word! I was not certain where to start. Did you see Elladan and Elrohir returning from the south just now?"

"I did! Why have they..."

"They have returned", Erestor said, "because a new problem has arisen that none of us counted with. The twins went over Caradhras, the way we think Beren will come, but could not go further. There seems to have been a landslide, and the Dimrill Stair is filled with stones and snow entirely, much like the ravine in the High Pass. So, as you see..."

"They won't be able to get through", Legolas said, and felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. "Not there either."

Erestor bowed his head yes but said: "There is a difference. By the look of it, the twins think this way may be cleared. It may take a while, and they do not know how far in the Stair is blocked, which is why they have returned. They will bring some more elves to help clear the way."

"Aren't there other passes?"

"Not too many. There are passes further south, but that is wild and dangerous country. There is another pass above the Gladden Fields - but I doubt the wood-elves will take that way." Erestor threw a glance at a window as they passed it. "Shame Quick-wing left so soon, or we could have sent another message with him back - the twins had no means to contact Beren, so we do not know how far they have come yet. If the whole Stair is blocked it may be long before we can contact them."

"How long?"

"That is hard to tell, I'm afraid", Erestor said. "Maybe a week. Maybe longer. It depends on the condition of the company and how much time they will have to spend hunting for food. The twins will bring enough supplies to set up a proper camp so they can stay for as long as they need to, but that means they will need a few days' preparation first."

The wood-elves would be cold and weary, and they would have little food, and one of them was wounded. They'd ride up to the Dimrill Stair, and they would find it closed. After all they had been through, the shadow-wood and Tuiw and father being injured and the avalanche -it seemed so unfair.

Or was there more to it? What if the traitor was so powerful he could create landslides and avalanches on his will? But only wizards were that powerful, and there were only three wizards in the world - and they could not be bad.

"Will they be here for Midwinter?" he asked.

"We hope they will", Erestor said. "We truly hope they will."

Tinuhen had insisted so urgently they must get to Rivendell before Midwinter, and the others had laughed him off because it had seemed impossible they would not be there before November ended. He might not have known what would happen, but he had been right anyway.

"You should not worry too much", Erestor said and laid a slender hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Caradhras is not far from Lórien, and I am sure your southern kin would not deny you help when you needed it? They can provide your companions with food and furs, if they need it."

Legolas nodded. He knew very little about Lórien, and father wasn't very fond of lady Galadriel, but that didn't mean the galadhrim wouldn't help. Maybe there would be enough time and Tinuhen would make it until Midwinter. If only Legolas hadn't been alone.

"Erestor", he said, "do you know what was in the letter Quick-wing gave me? The one from my father."

Erestor did not reply at once. "...I do."

"Can you tell me?"

"Not everything", Erestor said. "Some of it is only between Beren and lord Elrond - and your king and queen. He wrote to tell that everyone escaped the avalanche and that they are on their way south. And he mentioned you and asked us to take care of you, if you were with us - as if we wouldn't have!"

"Quick-wing said that one of the elves were injured."

"Beren mentioned that too", Erestor said, hesitantly. "But only briefly, in passing. He wrote that it might slow them down, but nothing more. I am sure that if it was a serious injury he would have written that."

"What about the Elvenking? We heard from Radagast..."

Erestor sighed as he turned a corner and they came into a corridor filled with pale sunlight. "About his... illness? I know very little about it - and I believe Beren does, too. But I doubt Radagast would have left Greenwood if Thranduil was still sick, and he is on his way west by now. Are you worried for your king?"

"He is the king."

"Not all kings are loved by their subjects."

"Ours is", Legolas said, and he knew that it was true - not only by his children. The wood-elves loved father because they had chosen him to be their king, and he was good and just. But Erestor nodded thoughtfully as if he found that information interesting. Maybe, because the noldor didn't trust father very much, they had thought the wood-elves wouldn't trust him either.

They fell silent, each deep in thought. Legolas wondered why Quick-wing hadn't said anything about father to him. Hadn't he known? Or was there something he hadn't wanted to tell?

It was too much to think about. Legolas wished he had never heard about father, and whoever of the elves in the mountains had been injured. Maybe Erestor understood, for suddenly he asked: "Do you know what that is?"

"What?"

They had come into the Hall of Artefacts, and Erestor pointed to the notched old helmet that lay on the spindly table. Wishing for something else to think of, Legolas shook his head.

"It may not look like much", Erestor said, "but it once belonged to your namesake - Legolas of Gondolin. Have you heard of him?"

Legolas hadn't, but he stopped to look closer at the helmet. It was true it did not look like much now, but it had been beautiful once - wrought of sturdy steel but with intricate golden ornaments and a small white gem at the front. It was scratched and dented and the ornaments on the left side looked like they had melted. A chunk of the left cheekguard had been cut clean off.

"Was he famous?"

"He was indeed. He was one of the greatest harp-players of his time, and well-known for his herb-lore. He tended the gardens around the palace in Gondolin."

Legolas' heart sank. Of all things, his parents had named him after a harp-player. The helmet must have been dented by some accident and not in battle. "I don't think I was very much like him, then."

Erestor chuckled and left him to admire one of the bleached tapestries on the wall. "He was also one of Gondolin's best scouts, and saved many fugitives from the city's Fall because of his keen sight and swift mind. The burn-damage you can see there on the helmet is from when he tried to help Glorfindel defeat the balrog."

"The bal - did he?" Legolas stared from Erestor to the helmet and imagined a balrog (whatever they looked like) breathing fire on a slightly larger version of himself, his armour crumbling and blackening, the helmet melting, yet its wearer standing strong with a bow held taunt and ready. "Maybe I wasn't so unlike him either."

"I am sure you are not. Quiet as a cat and swift as an eagle, aren't you? And", Erestor's smile became serious, "you are loyal to your friends, and brave when you need to. Sometimes you must leave balrog-slaying to others, but that does not mean you cannot help at all."

Legolas thought about that while Erestor walked down the hallway. In the story about Amdir the Archer, one of the longer ones in Tales from Doriath, Amdir bravely went alone after the dragon that had attacked his home - but when it came to killing the dragon in the end, it was another elf who did it. Oddly, in his mind, Amdir the Archer looked a lot like Legolas of Gondolin.

Erestor was almost down by the carved oaken doors, and Legolas walked past all the tapestries and display cases and the broken sword to catch up with him.

"Is that your library?"

"That? Oh, yes. At least, I tend to it, and keep it orderly." The doors were closed as usual, but the letters over it gleamed in the sun-light. "I heard you can read."

"Only slowly."

Erestor smiled. "That does not make it less valuable. Any skill can be improved with practise."

"Is reading a skill?"

"What else would it be?"

Legolas shrugged. He had thought of reading as something one was required to do, like walking and riding, only it was also boring. Though Tales from Doriath wasn't boring.

He wondered if Erestor would think he was unsophisticated, but the elf-lord did not look so.

"I will make sure you get to see the library one day, if you'd like. I don't have enough time now to show you all its wonders."

"Findel said you had over a thousand books in there", Legolas said.

"One thousand, two hundred and eighty-four", said Erestor, with no small amount of pride in his voice. "There was a bigger collection in Hollin, but all that could be saved from it is here now. Perhaps you would like to join Ninneth and Lindir for lessons some day? I have lessons with them every week if I can manage, and I have promised them that next time we will be in the library to look at maps. Then I could show you everything."

Legolas hesitated. He still wasn't sure about lessons.

"Think about it", Erestor said. "You can only sit by and listen, if you want. I will not even ask you to be quiet, for Lindir won't be for asecond either way."

Legolas promised to think about it. When he left the Hall of Artefacts he saw the twins sitting under the apple tree in the room outside, still in chain mail but without the leather jerkins or the cloaks over it. Their swords and bows lay in a heap at their feet and lady Arwen sat beside Elladan, mending the torn hem of his sleeve. None of them spoke, and they did not look up. Legolas passed them quietly.

* * *

Tinuhen leaned over his horse's neck to brush the snow from a leaning milestone. The further south they had ridden, the easier it had become to follow the road - not because of a lack of snow, but because the land was so littered with the ruins of old stonework - bridges and houses and watch towers - that it was impossible to miss where the thoroughfare had once been. Tinuhen had counted the mountains as they passed them. Fanuidhol, like a spear point reaching to pierce the moon; Celebdil, an age-worn giant shouldering the heavens - and now, looming above them with his jarred peaks and fanged ridges gleaming with snow, Caradhras. Tinuhen shuddered. These were the mountains of Moria, and somewhere under the weight of all that stone were the hollow halls of that lost kingdom. Had the times been different they might have taken that way.

Maidh reined his horse in beside Tinuhen. "What does it say?"

"Dimrill Stair", Tinuhen said, looking back at the lichen-grown inscriptions on the milestone, "to the west. And Hollin. Lothlorien to the south. Moria to the south-west."

"West - up there?"

"Yes." Tinuhen followed his gaze. Another road - smaller and more difficult to see - left theirs and ran up towards the mountains, meeting with a stream that came crashing down to join the Anduin. It led into the shadows of tall spruces, into the depths of a high glen, and there it vanished from their view. "Up there."

They'd made good way that day, crossing the Gladden Fields and following the mountains as they bent westward. Naru had taken two boards off the top of the wagon and turned them into primitive runners that he fastened under the wheels, and pulled like a sleigh, the wagon moved swiftly and smoothly over the snow. Beren had slept through most of the day, but when they stopped for their midday meal he had been awake and able to eat a little.

"I just need to rest", he'd said, his paper-dry lips cracking when he smiled. "Just need to rest. You're doing fine on your own, my boy."

Tinuhen had nodded, because he was. He was doing fine.

He'd led the elves this far south without any difficulties. Every night they had moved closer to the river to find shelter as far away from the mountains as possible, and they had hunted and gathered fire-wood along the river banks and in the Vale. The elves were optimistic. They hadn't been hungry much, not cold and not tired, and the detour was bearable. It wasn't far now.

As they rode up beside the tumbling stream, heading for the shadowy glen into which the road vanished, Tinuhen felt certain it would be alright. They would camp below the Dimrill Stair and cross Caradhras in the morning. By tomorrow night, the mountains would be behind them. The shadows were already lengthening, but it could not be far.

Once under the shelter of the trees they stopped to rest, but Tinuhen could not be still. While the others refilled water-skins and gathered fire-wood he took Hethulin along - she was still not happy with him, but she'd ceased being disrespectful and only frowned when he asked her to come - and walked further up the slope. Laeros followed a step behind Hethulin. He'd taken to do that whenever the healers were too busy with Beren to keep an eye on him, and though Tinuhen was not sure if they ever spoke, Hethulin never protested either. So as they walked, Laeros walked after them like a shadow, a quiet presence of vigilance at their heels.

They followed the stream as it came splashing down a ladder of falls. The trees grew scarcer after only a few hundred yards, and the sides of the valley rose higher and closed in. It became steeper. There was very little snow, and here and there they could see the broken stones of the old road hidden under moss and brown shrubbery. The road ran up to a small open area huddling beneath cliffs that shot straight up for the sky. The stream fell over a ledge at a dizzying height and crashed down in foam and mist among the stones beneath, fed by the sun that melted the snow higher up in daytime. Here, or a little further down between the trees, would be a good place to camp.

The Stair was right ahead, nothing but a dark crack in the surface of the stone. Tinuhen was about to step out of the trees when Hethulin's light hand on his shoulder made him stop. Her eyes were dark and wide open. She watched the cliffs ahead of them; there was nothing there, but she was right - caution was everything. Tinuhen drew back into the shadows. He had never been as good at finding hiding-places as the wood-elves - always been found first when they played hide and seek, long ago when he was no older than Legolas - but if Hethulin thought the trees were safe enough, he believed her.

"That the Dimrill Stair?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Narrow, is it not?"

Tinuhen had thought about it too. He knew that wagons and carts had used to be pulled up the Stair, so it could not be that steep, but what if it was too narrow for their wagon?

"We ought to take a look. Do you think it is safe?"

Hethulin looked at the cliffs again, then at Laeros, who seemed very calm.

"Yes", she said. "Let's go."

They left the shelter of the trees and crossed the open space, glancing upward. On closer look the Stair was more of a gentle slope, twisting upward so that they could only see a few yards in, with its rough-hewn stone steps partly covered in snow. Tinuhen stretched out his arms to estimate the width.

"It can work. Otherwise we can make a stretcher for Beren, and split the supplies between the rest of us."

Laeros crouched at the opening of the Stair, picking with the small stones that were strewn over the steps. There were a lot of stones, as if the very cliffs were falling apart. When Hethulin cautiously moved further up the slope they crunched beneath her feet. She kicked away a larger rock that lay in the way before she vanished behind the bend.

Tinuhen heard her draw her breath.

"Hethulin?"

"Come and look, my prince."

Tinuhen glanced at Laeros, deemed it was safe to leave him alone, and followed after Hethulin. She stood a little bit further up, staring grim and silent into the dark. When Tinuhen saw what she was looking at he stopped dead in his tracks.

The Stair was shut.

At some point an avalanche or a storm had brought snow and loose rocks down from the slopes above the cliffs, and they'd fallen into the ravine and blocked it off as effectively as a stone wall. Boulders as tall as an elf had crushed the fragile stairs, and littered among them were more stones, smaller stones, shards of stone, and piles of icy snow. The Stair was not filled to the brim like the small plateau below the High Pass, but like there, it would not be breached. Not by horses and wagons, nor by elves with a stretcher. Tinuhen doubted even someone as agile as Hethulin would get past it all.

It would take weeks to clear it. They did not have that time.

"Now what?" Hethulin asked.

Tinuhen did not answer. His head was empty.

A dark shadow flew over their heads and they looked up.

"Is not good!" Quick-wing said. "Is not good at all, no?"

"No", Tinuhen said wearily. "It is not good at all."

* * *

The House of Elrond was, after all, not a bad place to be alone and a little lost. The noldor might expect much of themselves, but they expected little of others; all they asked was that one was friendly, and if you were happy to sing along with them in the Hall of Fire, so much the better.

Of course, they weren't wood-elves. They talked more than they listened, and didn't see the point of sitting quiet and watching the flames dance in a log-fire, though they did see the point of sitting quiet and watching the stars. And though they had many words for stars, they had few words for trees, so that sometimes Legolas did not know how to describe things to them. The noldor had words for elm and spruce and pine and oak, but not for young trees or old trees, or sick trees or trees with a lot of branches, or for trees by a river or trees on a hill. If Legolas said he had been talking to _cairaendoron_ , they looked at him and wondered who on Arda he was, and Legolas had to explain he meant the crooked oak that grew by itself by the hedge - _cai-raeg-ereb-doron_. But the noldor only laughed at that, and wanted to know more about trees.

The twins remained in Rivendell for the following days, though no one saw much of them. They rode out every morning and did not return until very late, and while other elves gathered fire-wood, sharpened swords, reinforced tents and repaired spare shovels that would go with the elves on their journey south, the twins did not seem to help in the preparations. Sometimes they showed up for dinner, but they were quiet and barely seemed to eat; sitting with their heads bowed and close together, they never spoke even to each other, and it seemed more like they were trying to shut everyone else out. When they were there the room became quieter, so they stopped coming.

Legolas got other things to think about. One day he and Ninneth helped a healer put herbs, salves and other medicines in leather pouches and glass bottles that would be sent with the elves as they travelled south. They took them from large jars; dried leaves and roots, and strange powders. Legolas knew some of them, for mother has showed him how to find them in the woods and what to use them for, but there were many he did not recognise.

"Careful with these", the healer said and put another jar on the table. "One of these leaves in the wrong pouch might be unpleasant."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Poisonous. Used right they cure a number of illnesses, and they will stop the bleeding of small wounds, but take too much of it, and you will be very ill."

Legolas and Ninneth eyed the bluish green, crenellated leaves with great interest, but were careful as they filled a leather pouch with them, and made sure to label it correctly. The glass jar was almost empty, and the label tied around the opening so faded with age it was almost impossible to read.

"Blood-root", the healer said. "Common enough, but not in these mountains. Here you need to know the right people to buy it."

Legolas and Ninneth were very careful as they filled a leather pouch with the poisonous leaves, made sure to label it correctly and to not let anything get on the table, but they were not as careful with everything else. By the time they were done, the front of Ninneth's dress had stains of some mixture that smelled very odd, and Legolas had willow-bark juice over his tunic. When they found Lindir, who had been running errands for lord Elrond until then, he laughed at them.

"You two need to change! Do you have any spare clothes, Legolas?"

"No... well, yes, in my room. They're not mine, but I suppose I'm meant to borrow them."

Since he'd arrived in Rivendell, Legolas had only ever tried on the night-shirt, because though the clothes he had worn since he left Greenwood might be in need of a wash he didn't want to change. They were the only piece of home he had and he didn't want to part with them even for a little while. But now that the winter day came to its end and the sun sank like molten gold in the west, he took them off and washed his face and his stained hands while Lindir spent half and hour deciding what he would wear instead.

Then they sat on the floor, curled up before the fire, and talked until the dinner bell tolled. Legolas wore a tunic of green velvet, because the silver-grey one Lindir has settled for had turned out to be too small, and a pair of yellow suede trousers that fit almost perfectly. Lindir plucked on his lute again. Ninneth braided her hair. Legolas ran his fingers over the smooth silvery fabric of the discarded tunic and thought of father.

"Can you take out melodies on that one?" he asked Lindir.

"What melody?"

Legolas sung the Tree-song to him. It was a simple tune, made for singing by the fire at night, and after a few tries Lindir got it right.

"We should do it in the Hall of Fire tonight", he said. "I play the lute, and you sing."

"It sounds better when many people sing it."

"We can teach the others. They're always happy to learn new songs."

Legolas looked at him. The noldor were great at almost everything, but the sindar had always been the best singers, and he was half a one. And if they were meant to teach Legolas about etiquette (not that they did, because they did not know that had been father's wish) maybe he could teach them about the things _he_ knew.

"I guess you're right", he said. "We can teach them."

* * *

The snows kept coming. One night it snowed over three feet, and on the morrow morning half of Rivendell were on the courtyard to shovel it all away, though they did not get very far before a snow-ball war broke out and the shovels were forgotten. Other elves were busy wrapping smoked fish in brown paper and stuffing it in barrels, then rolling the barrels onto small carts along with sacks of rye and wheat, rolls of blankets and furs, heaps of arrows, whet stones and tents and water-skins, and the medicines Legolas and Ninneth had prepared. The twins were to leave that afternoon, but they were nowhere to be seen even as the last preparations were made.

After the midday meal, Legolas went down to the kitchen and asked the kitchen-maids for something to feed the animals with. He figured with so much snow, the birds and beasts of the valley would have a hard time to find food, and he had to go into the forest anyway to look for Quick-wing. It would be the first time he left the House of Elrond since his arrival. Legolas longed to be in the company of trees again, even if this forest wasn't like Greenwood.

One of the maids filled a basket for him with bread gone dry and some nuts and dried berries that she thought she could spare. She said the noldor used to put out food for the birds too in winter, but if Legolas wanted to go into the forest, he could.

"But you must go no further than the fourth stream from the house", she warned him. "If you get lost..."

"I'm a wood-elf!"

"I know that, but this isn't your forest. And it always safer around the house. Lord Elrond says no one is allowed to go further than the fourth stream alone, unless they are prepared to fight. Sometimes wicked things comes into the valley."

"I thought there were only two ways in."

She shook her head. "There are many ways - all hidden and impossible to find again once you've lost it, but they are there to stumble upon by anyone and anything." She smiled and hung the basket over his arm. "Now go, before the sun sets already. It is a long way to the fourth stream."

The day was pale and tinted with frost, and after the heat of the kitchen the nothern wind was biting cold. Legolas left by the southern bridge, and when he looked down at the icy stream far below he thought of the little river at home, of the water-wheel that could be heard far away when all else was quiet, of the elves living upstream coming down in their boats to trade goods, of climbing down to the smooth river stones to drink the clear water every morning. Then he batted that thought out of his head. It was no good to be home-sick when he could not go home.

The path led in between the trees and away south. Legolas followed it to the bottom of the valley but there he left it, never one to follow roads; he found his own ways through the forest, and they went here and there and to everything that looked interesting. He crossed the trail of a small sled on which the foresters had brought their fire-wood back to the house that morning, walked through glens tucked between gentle hills, past boulders with cloaks of snow and over glades hidden among the trees. Mighty oaks and elms and slender beeches replaced the gangly pines, and the sky was crossed with branches. It was so quiet he could almost hear their breathing. The snow softened all hard edges.

When the trees grew used to him, Legolas asked them for the dens of badgers and foxes, and for places where the deer often went, so that he could leave them food. He broke the ice of a little pond so the animals could drink, and left handfuls of nuts and berries here and there as he walked. He climbed into a tree to feed a squirrel family high in its branches, and sat there for a while letting them eat from his hand. He kept an eye on the sky; but not before the basket was almost empty did he see a bird circling the trees-tops, and recognised Quick-wing's copper-read coat.

He whistled, just in case that strange black bird would be near - he had seen it once or twice, circling the house, but it had never come close. Quick-wing wheeled around and swooped down under the tree-branches. Legolas held his arm out and let the sparrow-hawk sit on the brace strapped to his wrist while he untied the message from his leg. Then he fed him some berries.

"Don't you have a message to me too?" Legolas asked, tucking the one with the Greenwood seal inside his tunic.

Quick-wing shook his head. "Only one. Too many messages very dangerous. Very dangerous already, very secret."

"I guess so." Legolas carried Quick-wing back to the pond so he could drink. The sparrow-hawk was very tired. "How is Tinuhen? Where is he?"

"Elves fine. One elf still not flying, others fine, they hunt good, make big fires. But is trouble, yes! Elves find way through mountain but it blocked, yes, blocked by stone, blocked by snow..."

"Erestor told me that. So they're by the Dimrill Stair already?"

"Has made nest below. Can't go on. Elves can't fly, no, elves have no wings!"

"No we don't", Legolas said, thinking of how much easier that would have made things. "But lord Elrond already knew that, and he'll send out elves to help clear the way so Tinuhen can go on. You'll have to tell him that. Tell him to stay and wait for help, if it's possible. They're leaving today, so they should be there soon."

Quick-wing nodded and ate some more berries from Legolas' hand. "Elf has message to little elf, too."

"He has? You said - "

"Not written, no, but gave to Quick-wing. Elf said, little elf keep hiding, yes? So eagle thinks is only sparrow. Safer so. Little elf promise?"

"I do, but can you stop calling me - "

"And be polite to elf-lord. Else elf will - hmm - lock little elf into dungeon until learns to behave? And strangle, too, yes!"

"I'll strangle Tinuhen. No, don't tell him I said that! I'll do as he says."

Legolas set the sparrow-hawk down by the pond and watched him drink until he was satisfied. When Quick-wing settled down to hone his feathers, Legolas sat down too in the snow and drew circles in it with a stick. A squirrel leapt from a branch to another, setting them both in motion and dropping a heap of snow down on the ground. Quick-wing eyed it hungrily but did not attack. Squirrels are fierce fighters.

"I wonder if lord Elrond has a message for Tinuhen", Legolas said. "Maybe you should wait here while I go back and ask him. Then you'd get a rest too. Was it windy in the mountains?"

"Very windy. Very much snow", Quick-wing said. "Mountains angry. Something in them that's not supposed to be there."

There was an edge to his voice that made Legolas think twice about his words. "Something else than the elves?"

Quick-wing croaked, the way sparrow-hawks do when they feel threatened and don't want to show it. "Foul! Foul and wicked. Ragast never liked, noo, too clever, too cunning. Mind like machine. Mountains don't like, no but mountains can't scare him away!"

Legolas shuddered. Someone with a mind like a machine, someone that even the Misty Mountains could not scare away, must be very powerful. He wanted Quick-wing to tell him more, but the sparrow-hawk seemed not to know how to explain further.

"What about the traitor then?" Legolas asked. "Are they - "

"Hush!" Quick-wing cried, staring at the sky. Legolas fell silent.

The black bird was up there, over the trees. It flew in wide circles over the valley; sometimes out of sight, then it appeared again, a dark blotch against the blue sky.

Legolas sat very still. The black bird vanished again and did not reappear, but they waited for what felt like hours to make sure it did not come back. At last it seemed to be gone.

"Not safe here", Quick-wing said. "Valley is guarded. Cannot wait for elf-lord, must leave at once."

"Yes", Legolas said, eyes still fixed on the sky. He did not think the bird had seen them, but it had been close. "What about me? Should I leave?"

"No! Not little elf. Too dangerous outside. But next time must be more clever, yes, much more clever. Can't come into valley anymore."

Legolas nodded. "There must be a way I can leave only for a while, and without getting in danger. Findel asked me to take Marigold for rides. Maybe I can follow some hunters, or maybe I could go with Ninneth and her father would come with us; he's a warrior."

"Good, good!" Quick-wing said. "Little elf very clever. Four days, we meet south, by river. Will wait if little elf not there. Elves often come to river, will take you there. Understand?"

"Got it."

"Now hurry back. I fly quick and sneaky through forest, evil bird can't follow."

With a last glance at the empty sky, Quick-wing took off. Legolas waited a little more before he took the basket and left, but he did not go back at once, because the basket wasn't empty and he wanted to see more of the valley. He walked south-west down a long slope until he stumbled upon a stream at the bottom. It was just a trail of ice snaking through the forest, narrow enough to jump over, but it was the fourth he'd found since he left the House of Elrond.

So here was the border. Though the forest looked no different on the other side, he was not allowed to go further. Legolas wanted so badly to go on, but there was still a lot of forest he had not discovered on the side of the stream he was allowed to be. There wasn't exactly a _reason_ to break the rules, he thought, and turned to walk back.

And then he saw the tracks.

In the snow below a pine - the almost invisible imprints of elven feet. They came from the house, led over the stream, and further into the forest. They could have been the foresters' tracks, or a hunter checking on their snares that morning, or anyone who was allowed to go further than the fourth stream.

Legolas stood still and listened. Maybe they weren't so far off.

At first there was nothing.

Then he heard, faintly over the forest, the rhythmical singing of steel on steel - the sound of clashing swords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just to be clear: there will be no update next week, but the one after that. From now on I hope to update on time, every time.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting, and putting up with me!


	14. A Pair of Horse-thieves

Rules are for breaking, Maidh used to say, but then Maidh spent more time on kitchen duty than all the other palace guards combined.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder.

The woods were empty. There was no one there to see him. He could cross the fourth stream and no one would ever know.

The ice moaned ominously when he stepped on it, but it held. Legolas walked hastily over and went on without another glance back - if he thought too much, maybe he'd start thinking about that time he left camp in the shadow-wood, and Tinuhen slapping him. Those weren't good memories, even though it was a good thing they'd found Tuiw.

But it was different this time, because this wasn't the shadow-wood and he wasn't going to find a dead person. Dead people don't spar with each other.

Legolas stopped to listen. The sounds of swordplay were close now, but he could not hear any voices. He followed the sounds up a hill so steep he had to climb parts of the way on his hands and knees; perhaps he could have walked around it, but from the summit he might be able to look down without being seen, and he did not want to be seen. Legolas could think of three people who might have reason to be sparring to far from the house with its practise rangers: one of them had told him never to spy on him again, and the other two would probably kill him if they found him doing it.

Pulling his inconsiderable weight over the rocky ridge, he sank down beneath a thick spruce and made sure the fur cloak covered him completely. Before him, the ground sloped somewhat gentler to an opening in the trees, and he could see it clearly. It was as he had thought. Two people stood below the hill with the sleeves of their linen shirts rolled up and sweat beading their faces. It was the twins, of course. Their hair was tied back in leather straps and they faced each other, long-swords in hand, but for the moment they had paused. They must have come out here to be alone - away from all those who backed out of rooms when they entered, and those who looked at them sadly in the corner of their eyes. Maybe this was where they had been every day when they rode out.

Elladan had a dark bruise beneath one eye and Elrohir had a gash across his cheek that had bled for long enough to soak the collar of his shirt. They weren't using practise swords. Legolas had a feeling the twins did not care when they got hurt; maybe they'd welcome it, and so they could beat each other mercilessly the way they would beat on their enemies. But at the moment they were talking - arguing, maybe - and Legolas could not make out much of what they said. Elladan had lowered his sword and was gesturing at the blood running freely down Elrohir's face. Elrohir snapped something angry and took a step back.

Legolas backed too. He was desperately curious, but it was none of his business - and this wasn't really like eavesdropping on father or Tinuhen. Somehow Legolas could tell it was different. He'd seen what he had come for, and he ought to leave.

He turned to silently crawl down the ridge - he must be even more careful now, now that the twins weren't busy sparring and the forest had gone quiet. Well, not entirely quiet. A willow grouse lifted from the snow a couple hundred yards away; far enough that all Legolas saw was a shadow and the flurry of snow trailing down in its wake.

He paused. Something must have startled it.

It was too early for foxes to be up and about. Legolas himself and the twins were too far away for a grouse to bother about them. Warily he stood up to see better.

A twig snapped. Something moved through the snow past the place where the willow grouse had just been. Someone.

It could be a hunter returning, or one of the foresters.

It could also be the traitor.

Legolas looked around, ready to bolt but not knowing where to. He could not stay on the ridge. He dared not climb down the way he'd come, nor did he dare to go closer to the twins. Maybe he could hide...

He stood there, hesitating, until a cold hand closed around his waist and pulled him down in the snow.

"What - are - you - doing?" Elladan hissed. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"There's someone..."

"Yes, there is someone out there. And you are not allowed to be this far from the house. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Well - they did, but - "

"Hush", Elladan said. "Before we know who's out there and what they want, we will not let ourselves be seen - or heard. Least of all you." With a glance that clearly said _stay where you are or else_ , Elladan let go of Legolas' wrist and straightened somewhat so he could look over the ridge. He had sheathed his sword, but had a bow in hand, and a quiver flung over his shoulder. For a moment he sat still, then he took Legolas by the arm and started walking down the slope.

"Where are we going?"

"To get a better view. Stay quiet."

Legolas stumbled after the older elf, who walked very fast and didn't have a cloak to hinder his movements. They followed the length of the hill until they saw Elrohir on his knees behind a large boulder that proved a good shelter for looking over the ridge without being seen. He had a bow too, and an arrow to the string.

Elladan placed Legolas between Elrohir and himself, as if to make sure he didn't run away.

"Have you seen anything?"

"Not much", Elrohir muttered. "There's two of them. Both Men. One appears to be injured. They're moving slowly."

It was the most words Legolas had ever heard him speak, and Elrohir's voice was faint and slightly hoarse like one that isn't used very much. He was gazing over the ridge alert and shark-eyed like a hawk, with his lips drawn in a tight line.

Elladan put his bow aside. "Let me look at your cheek now, Elrohir."

Elrohir muttered something and did not move.

"You cannot go back to the house like that. Father will..."

"Never mind father! I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Someone has to keep watch."

"I can keep watch", Legolas suggested, but Elladan gave him a glance that made him shrink where he sat like a startled young hare. He supposed the twins must had understood that he had seen them sparring, and maybe that it wasn't by accident either, and they were angry. He wanted to tell them he hadn't meant to intrude, but he didn't dare to.

"Behind you", Elladan said, "in my pack. There's a water-skin. Give it to me."

Legolas obliged. Elladan poured water on the sleeve of his shirt, moved up to sit behind Elrohir, and dabbed his cheek with the wet sleeve to clean the blood away. Elrohir flinched first, then sat still.

Legolas wanted to see the men, but he did not dare to move from where he sat. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. It became quiet, but for the snapping of twigs and the rustle of dry shrubbery as the Men slowly came closer, and the flight of startled birds before them.

"There", Elladan said at last, and wiped his bloody sleeve in the snow. "That's all I can do for now. It's not bleeding too much."

"Thanks", Elrohir mumbled and went back to his sullen silence. Then, straightening, he said: "Here they are now."

Elladan moved further up so he could see, and Legolas, unable to contain himself, moved as well. No one said anything about it so he supposed it was alright. He sank down in the shadow of the boulder and looked down.

The men came trudging through knee-high snow in the glen between the ridge and the next hill. One was tall and broad-shouldered, with fair hair bound in a tangled pony tale and clothes that had been fine in better days. His tunic was thread worn and his cloak patched many times, and the gold chains and twin gold brooches keeping it together had lost their shine. The sword-belt hung too low on his hips as if he had lost a lot of weight since he had it made. He looked strong but weary to the bone.

The second man was short and lean and his hair was a darker blonde. He wore a cloak so worn the sunlight shone right through it, and he was shivering, stumbling on with his eyes on the ground and the taller man's arm around his waist to keep him up. Elrohir had been right about injured.

The tall one carried a pack that was way too big for one person, and he was talking - and endless stream of words that seemed to be keeping him up as much as it kept the shorter man up.

"What language is that?" Legolas asked, forgetting he was supposed to be quiet. He had never heard anything like it, but it made him think of something strong and vast and wind-whipped.

"It's the language of the éoréd", Elladan replied. "The horse-folk, you know, of Rohan. I wonder what business they have here."

When the men were right beneath the boulder, the twins stood up - simultanously, though Legolas had not seen them giving each other as much as a glance. Elrohir nocked his arrow again and stepped up to where he was visible, drawing his bow halfway. Elladan did not draw his bow, but he stood beside his brother and gave Legolas another warning look: stay where you are.

Legolas did not exactly obey. He left the boulder for a spruce that grew nearby and crouched down where he was visible, but only vaguely; a shadow that might be imagined, and might be real. Mother had told him that shadows always frightened Men the most.

"Hold!" Elladan called out in the Common Tongue, and the men stopped dead in their tracks.

The tall man saw the twins on top of the hill and went rigid. For a moment it seemed he was ready to bolt, but he must have remembered his friend, because he stayed where he was.

The shorter man sank to his knees in the snow as if he was grateful for a chance to rest whatever it may mean. Maybe he thought he would die then and there.

"Who walks in the valley of Rivendell?" Elladan asked. "What business have you here?"

There was a long silence. The men stood like statues. Elrohir raised the bow a little, though Elladan put his hand out to stop him.

"You will answer to the sons of lord Elrond", he said. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Speak!" Elrohir snapped, and the taller man flinched and drew a deep breath.

"We... we're from Rohan, my lords. From Edoras. We're travelling. We..." He wrung his hands and looked at his friend as if wishing that he would speak instead. "We were seeking the village of Netherford. My friend is ill and injured, but we're lost - I thought, I thought we were nearing the village but..."

"Netherford is over a day's walk to the south", Elladan said coldly. "How came you here? How did you find the valley?"

"We lost the way", the man said, his voice cracking. "There were goblins... we walked half the night and Scead became sick. We didn't know where to go - there was a path, a deer track, and we went down and down... please, my friend is sick. If he does not get help soon..."

The smaller man's eyes flittered between Elladan and Elrohir, and then towards Legolas, half-hidden in the shadow. He looked around as if wondering how many more there were.

Elrohir looked at his brother and mouthed: goblins?

Elladan crowned. He was quiet for a while.

"Please", the tall one said. "We meant nothing by coming here. Please, let us go."

"You will not reach the village before it darkens", Elladan said slowly. "They have little in the way of medicines and supplies. You shall come with us. Lord Elrond will welcome you."

The men did not understand at first. Then it dawned on the taller one, and he stammered thank you a dozen times over, then said something to his friend who nodded and tried to smile.

Elladan climbed down while Elrohir gathered the rest of their gear.

"Carry this", he said and handed Legolas a couple of water-skins. "And stay away. We cannot be sure they are to be trusted."

Their way back to the house was painfully slow. Elladan helped support the shorter man with his arm around his waist, but still he stumbled, and they had to stop twice to rest. Elladan asked if he had been poisoned, but the man only muttered something about 'too much of the damned leaves' and his friend looked guilty and said he'd tried to help but only made it worse. Elrohir walked behind the three and kept an eye on the Men lest they try something. Legolas followed through the tree-tops. He let the men caught glimpses of him between the trees, but never so they could be sure he was there - sometimes he was to their right, sometimes to their left, so they would think there was more than on elf in the trees. When they came to the first stream and the stone bridge, Elrohir slowed down a little to let the others go ahead. Legolas jumped to the ground beside him.

"You were seen", Elrohir said and took the skins from him.

"I let them see me."

"I told you to stay away."

"If we don't know if we can trust them", Legolas said, "why should we give them the impression that they can trust us?"

Elrohir hesitated. Then he lifted his chin in appreciation.

* * *

"Goblins?" Glorfindel said sharply. "How many and how close?"

The tall man wrung his hands. His friend had been ushered away by healers as soon as they reached the courtyard, and now he stood alone between the dark-eyed twins and the grim elf-lord and looked very uncomfortable. "Uh - five, I think, my lord, but we heard more of them in the hills. Maybe ten miles from here. It was last evening, and Scead got sick during the night, and then we walked and walked because I could not - I could not help him."

"Worry not", Glorfindel said, which would have been more reassuring if he had not been so fearsome. "Your friend is in good hands now. How about you? Are you well?"

"Only tired, my lord."

Glorfindel looked from him to the towering twins, and Legolas made himself small behind Elrohir so they would not send him away. He wanted to hear all about goblins.

"Ten miles", Glorfindel said. "That is too close. We must deal with them immediately."

"Elrohir and I..."

"You are needed in the south. I will ride out."

"You have not fought goblins for ages", Elladan said.

Glorfindel smiled and flexed his fingers. "Exactly."

Other elves had gathered around them on the courtyard, whispering and staring at the foreign man, though Erestor did his best to make them go away so they would not scare him. Echail was there as well, looking very important, and Glorfindel turned to him and told him to gather the warriors. Nodding gravely, Echail left.

Glorfindel turned back to the man. "What is your name?"

"Tilwine, my lord, son of Éadwine."

"I thought that might be you."

The man paled.

"You will ride with us", Glorfindel said sternly. "You must show us the way you took into the valley, and the way from where the goblins attacked you. Worry not, we will keep you safe and out of battle. There are a few villages along the river Bruinen, and they must be protected."

"Yes, my lord."

"Your friend is..."

"Scead, son of Dynne, my lord."

"Of course."

Legolas looked up at the twins, but they did not seem to know who Tilwine son of Éadwine or Scead son of Dynne were either. Only Erestor looked grave and a little sad.

"Come", he said and beckoned at the man to follow. "There is time for you to rest and drink while the warriors prepare. You are safe here, and welcome to stay for the time being. We will not drive you away."

Glorfindel looked after Erestor as he led the man up the stair and into the house. The other elves followed them or left, so that he and the twins - and Legolas, who still hid behind Elrohir - stood alone on the courtyard.

"They are outcasts", Glorfindel said. "I have heard about them. Horse-thieves - you can hardly commit a graver crime in Rohan, and I am surprised they were not hanged, but I suppose this is why word of them has reached us. By the look of them, I think they are harmless."

There was an odd feeling in Rivendell that day, of things being just a little out of place - like a break in a pattern so subtle you cannot pinpoint exactly what it is. First they waved off the elves riding south with the twins, then the warriors with Glorfindel and Tilwine at their head, and all of a sudden the House of Elrond was very empty.

Not that it was ever full. It had been built long ago, when there were more noldor left in Middle Earth; the dining hall had room for at least twice as many elves as there lived now - but that evening even the Hall of Fire was quiet, and there were not enough elves for every verse of the Valaquenta. Still they stayed up late. They sung songs of daylight and summer, and looked often out the windows, until at last a line of torch-light far away revealed that Glorfindel was on his way back.

"Finally", Erestor said. He had been wringing his hands a lot the past hour. "Echail, fetch lord Elrond."

Echail sighed and limped out of the Hall of Fire, setting his good leg down with a loud _thump_ at each step. He was not in a good mood that evening, if he ever was, because he had wanted to go with Glorfindel but could not because of his leg. The other elves milled out on the courtyard to see the elves ride up the southern bridge.

As lord Elrond came down the stair, Glorfindel shook his head. "No trace of them, my lord."

"None?"

"They have retreated into the mountains. Probably fancied a swift and easy kill, and fled as soon as they heard of our coming."

Lord Elrond twined his fingers together and looked south. Maybe he worried for his sons, though Legolas thought that if the goblins ran into them it wouldn't be the twins that were in danger.

"I am very sorry, my lord", Tilwine said. He had dark circles under his eyes by now, but his voice had gained some confidence. "It seems we lured them down here, and put you all in danger."

Lord Elrond shook his head. "It is nobody's fault that goblins are what they are. You have done what you could to aid us, and I ask nothing more. Come inside. You are exhausted, and your friend Scead has asked for you."

"Is he well?"

"Resting, but there is no danger", lord Elrond said. "His wounds were not severe, but he thought he had ingested blood-root, and his symptoms seemed similar enough to me. Is that right?"

"I - I tried to help him", Tilwine said and blushed. "But I'm not very good with... leaves. So he got even sicker than he was."

"You could have done worse harm", lord Elrond said with a smile, then led him away from the courtyard. The other warriors dismounted and led their horses to the stables. Glorfindel tucked his helmet under his arm.

"Curse it", he said to Erestor. "I was hoping to bash some goblin skulls in."

"Glorfindel!"

"At least we are safe, though how those goblins could get so close without our notice is beyond me. And Tilwine seems an honourable man, for a horse-thief."

* * *

The arrival of the two men and the possible presence of goblins nearby was the only thing talked about at breakfast the next morning. People whispered and gossiped, but not even the warriors knew much, and the healers refused to say anything about their patient. So when Tilwine son of Éadwine entered the dining hall looking wide-eyed around, the room hushed and hissed into silence, and all eyes turned to him.

He hardly looked the same man as he had been yesterday - washed and rested, with his flaxen hair combed and his broad shoulders freed from the burden of the pack, he was now straight and proud and very much in awe. His tunic had been mended and washed, and the dark blue velvet shone again, though it was still a sorry piece of clothing with its embroideries ruined beyond saving. He wasn't wearing the cloak with the twin brooches.

"Come and sit here!" someone said in an uncertain Common Tongue, and pulled out the chair beside him.

Tilwine grinned. "Ah, uh - _le hannon?_ "

"You're welcome, _randir_!"

The elves waited politely until he was seated, then exploded in welcomes and questions in a mix of Common Tongue, sign language and sindarin, the last of which Tilwine seemed to understand very little. But Tilwine did not mind. He smiled easily and had a hearty laugh, and somehow he managed to talk and gesture and eat and drink at the same time; the elves admired his ability to eat so much in so short a time, and he claimed that even the porridge tasted better than anything he had eaten in his life. Tilwine told them that he had served in King Eorl's household as one of his closet and most renowned warriors, but that he was an adventurer at heart, so he and Scead had left to see what luck they might find in the north. They had wanted to see the land where they were born, he said, the abandoned castles and estates in the north. If any of the other elves knew what Glorfindel had said about horse-thieves, they were tactful enough not to mention it. It didn't seem a necessary thing to bring up.

"And as any other adventure", Tilwine said, waving the jam-knife like a sword, "ours turned out exactly the opposite of what we planned! Bandit-raids, greedy lords, beautiful maidens and goblin-raids - and now, last but not least, elves!"

The elves cheered when he mentioned them.

"It does sound like an exciting tale", said Erestor from the High table, "but maybe more fit for the Hall of Fire tonight." He had a book that he had been trying to read for a while, but it did not look like he managed to concentrate on it very well.

"Oh! My apologies. You are right, my lord", Tilwine said, though most other elves protested. "Yes, my friends, the tale must wait. It will be all the better for it!"

Tilwine remained the centre of attention for most of that day, and he quickly befriended the warriors and Echail - they shared the same kind of slightly mean but good-natured humour. They made him teach him his own tongue, though none of the elves could get the sounds right that had made Legolas think of wind and plains, and Tilwine kept trying to convince them that sindarin was much more beautiful and they ought to teach him that instead. Then they went outside because Tilwine wanted to see elven weapons.

Legolas wandered aimlessly about that day, with _Tales from Doriath_ in hand but not the peace of mind to read it. The House of Elrond was calm and quiet. It was a windy day and the sky was overcast with white clouds, but Legolas did not feel like going outside; nor did he really feel like staying inside. He found Lindir in the Hall of Fire, but the older elf was trying to learn something new on his lute and too concentrated to talk. Ninneth worked in the kitchen, where Legolas found it too hot to stay.

Not for the first time he ended up in the Hall of Artefacts. The stories of all those ancient things called for him, or maybe he'd unconsciously went there because he was thinking about the twins, and this was where they'd first spoken. The jewels and trinkets and weapons and tapestries shone like faint stars all through the hall, a myriad of little lights that were good to rest the eyes upon. Dust danced in the sunlight above Legolas of Gondolin's helmet. Legolas traced the golden ornaments with his finger, and his mind travelled to the long ages that lay between him and the time when this helmet was made. It made him think of _Tales from Doriath_ , and in the silence of the Hall of Artefacts he sat down on a bench under a window to finish the tale about Amdir the Archer.

It seemed fitting, for though Amdir the Archer was a great warrior and not an elfling like Legolas, he was also alone; and though he was very brave he was also a little afraid when he walked into the dragon Urúan's lair to avenge his village. Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest and his heart pounded at the same rate he thought Amdir the Archer's must.

With only his bow and three swan-feathered arrows, Amdir the Archer stole into the dark. In the thin ray of sunlight that came from he opening he saw the coil of smoke, and the gleaming red eyes, and he readied his bow for the only chance he'd get. But just as he was about to shoot, the dragon Urúan started to speak, and Amdir was so startled he dropped -

Legolas flinched.

He'd been so concentrated on the story he hadn't noticed he had company. Scead stood at the end of the hallway, leaning to the door-post with sweat beading his hairline. He was dressed in a plain white tunic and soft linen breeches and looked like he should not have left the healing ward so soon, but when he peered into the Hall of Artefacts the weariness vanished from his eyes and they widened in awe. He walked slowly over the stone floor and stared at the gold-thread tapestry, the broken sword on its pedestal, and Legolas of Gondolin's helmet. He reached out to touch it, like Legolas had done not long before.

Perhaps he saw the finger-prints in the fine layer of dust. He looked up - and smiled. "So there are elven children after all."

Legolas frowned. "Why wouldn't there be?"

"There are so many stories about elves, is all. I am sure most of them aren't true."

"What kind of stories?"

Scead smiled again. It was not Tilwine's broad, freckled smile, but a softer one that made fine lines around his eyes. "May I sit down? I - well, I am not supposed to be up and about, really. I just cannot stand to be abed when there's so much to look at."

Legolas could not blame him. He moved to make place for Scead on the bench, and the man sank down with a sigh as if he'd been struggling just to stay on his feet. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at Legolas again he grinned like a small child that has successfully sneaked out of bed at night.

Then his eyes narrowed. "Did I... did I see you yesterday?"

"When?"

"In the forest", Scead said. "I saw your eyes. Dark as the night."

Legolas smiled.

"There were at least five elves out there", Scead went on. "Two tall and dark who looked exactly the same. Then all the elves in the trees. You were one, weren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You elves and your secrets."

"Is that another story of us?"

Scead grinned again. He let his gaze wander over the hallway, then leaned back, resting his head to the cool stone wall. He closed his eyes. "Elves are like trees, they say, for you can see how high the branches reach and hear the wind in the leaves, but you cannot see how deep the roots go."

Legolas was delighted. "I am a wood-elf."

"Here", Scead said and opened his eyes again to look at him, "I noticed there aren't many elves with hair like yours in Rivendell, and you don't look much like that elf-lord - Glorfindel. So you're from..."

"Greenwood."

"You cannot be alone here, then?"

Legolas explained to him what had happened, and Scead was very sorry to hear that. He knew how it was to be cut off from one's family, he explained, because he had left his own family back in Rohan to travel with Tilwine.

"At least you had a choice", Legolas said. "I was forced to leave Greenwood."

"Oh... well, to be entirely honest, Tilwine and I did not have that much of a choice either. We got into a bit of trouble. It's a long story. I doubt even Tilwine will spill that tale to anyone."

He looked sad as he said it, and Legolas wondered what had driven him to become a horse-thief, but he did not ask.

Someone entered the corridor, and Legolas looked up. Scead followed his gaze.

One of the healers stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She did not look pleased. "My dear friend, I did not keep you warm through the whole night just so you would exhaust yourself on the morrow. Why are you not in bed?"

"I am terribly sorry", Scead said and blushed. "I did not mean to act so childishly -"

"Hah! How old did you say you were, twenty-six?"

Legolas' mouth fell open. "That's younger than I am!"

"Ye gods, is that true? I'm terribly sorry, my lady, I'll never do it again."

"I am no lady", said the healer, but she looked a little flattered, and walked over to help Scead stand up. Legolas tucked _Tales from Doriath_ under his arm and followed. He wanted to hear more stories about elves.

"But if you weren't looking for Rivendell", Legolas said, as Scead half-sat against a heap of pillows in his sick-room, and the healer pretended to be irritated while she boiled water over the fire, "why were you around here?"

"We were looking for Netherford", Scead said. "Or, at that time we just looked for somewhere warm and safe to spend the night, but we had been looking for Netherford a couple of days already."

"Isn't that were there is a market?"

"Yes - the Midwinter market. Starts a couple days before the winter solstice, and ends with a feast on Midwinter's Eve. It's hard to be travelling in winter, especially when you are only two and have no horses, see, so we were going to stay there until the market, then perhaps take place with a merchant's company as guards."

"Are you a warrior?"

Scead made a face. "Tilwine is. A fine swordsman. Me? Not so much."

"Is that why you got wounded?"

"Ah... yes. But Tilwine is good enough for two, I'd say, and I can do other things. Chop fire-wood and the like. Netherford isn't a very large market, but someone has always need for a couple more mercenaries when they travel home with their gold. You'll meet all sorts of strange people there - dwarves, easterlings, wizards - some folk you don't know what they are or where they come from. I do not know about elves, though."

"There are elves", said the healer suddenly, and handed him a steaming cup that smelled of sweet herbs. "But you would not know it. We always ride to Netherford in the guise of men."

"Why?"

"Because elves draw attention. And because the villagers prefer to believe there are no elves in the mountains. Our warriors protect their borders, and our secrecy protect their peace of sleep. Now drink. I did not make that so it would get cold."

Things changed in Rivendell over the following days. With half the warriors gone, and the treat of the goblins Tilwine had told them about still hanging over them, lord Elrond decided that the valley must be guarded even more closely. The guards were doubled, although there were so few warriors left some had to take watches that were too high in rank for it. Three times Glorfindel led searches into the mountains, and every time they found tracks, but no goblins.

There lay a feeling of watching and waiting; of things brewing outside their borders, and threatening to spill over the edge and into the valley. Nothing unusual about that, with Midwinter marching closer, and the nights growing longer and darker.

But when things did spill over, it was not in a way that anyone had expected.

* * *

Thranduil walked through dark dreams.

He stood alone before the Black Gates and pillars of smoke billowed around him. The elves that had died in the marshes, the keening elves with their white fingers and their hair of reed were gone. The orcs were gone, and the fires were gone, and the sentient in the darkness was gone.

Thranduil looked for a way out, but whichever direction he went, the Gates emerged from the smoke and stood before him, dark and unyielding. He could not walk away. He dared not approach the Gates. He did not know what he dreaded most; that he would stand outside them for eternity, or that they would open and let out what was behind them.

There's nothing behind them, he thought. The evil in there was vanquished. It is only a dream, and I must fight it.

But he could not bring himself to go near the Gates. He still remembered the sight of them across the battle field; the sight of their opening and the sound of drums and thousands of marching feet; the black and red banners snapping in a wind that smelled of iron and blood. He remembered the bodies that lay before them afterwards. He remembered the black clouds and the foul rain that fell on his father's crushed body.

He needed to fight but he could not bring himself to try. Not here, not again. And he did not know what to fight; there was nothing there but the Gates, nothing that reacted to his presence.

You fool, his father said. He stood before Thranduil and a breeze touched his wet hair and his body was still broken beyond recognition. You should have done His bidding. You should have joined Him when you had the chance. Now He is gone, and perhaps you will be here forever.

You are dead, Thranduil answered him.

But his father only laughed because he knew Thranduil was dying, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience regarding the change in schedule, I feel a lot better about this and actually did not procrastinate so bad thinking I had enough time ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	15. Negotiations

The elves were not prepared. Not for this.

When they rode into the Shadow they expected any moment to meet orcs or wargs - or worse, whatever had awakened in the old fortress, whatever had wounded the Elvenking - but they met nothing but pain. The earth was still and cold. The trees stood bent and blackened under a layer of ashen snow. Only from deep within the soil where the Shadow had pressed their voices, the trees keened in their sorrow.

The elves wanted to mourn with them, but Merilin could not let them linger, and Radagast urged her on. She felt watched. Things moved in the branches and the undergrowth. They must keep moving, she thought, and so they did - deeper into the Shadow to where the tree-voices had died away and the earth barely breathed. They rode past sick marshes Merilin could not remember, over rotting bridges she had vague memories of, though in her mind they were fair and safe, not sighing sorrow and decay beneath every step.

They rode over a meadow that had once been a fair and open place, but even there the sunlight felt diminished, like it could not reach all the way to the ground. Three great stones stood leaning to each other in the middle of it. When they passed, something in the dark crevice between the stones hissed and flashed teeth.

The horses shied. The nearest elves raised their spears, but no one wanted to go close to the stones without knowing what was in there, or from which direction it might strike. They dared not move for a long while.

Merilin glanced at Brand, who rode to her right, and Duneirien to her left. She wished they would take command.

"Leave it", she said at last. "We must go on. Keep on eye on it, but leave it be."

They rode on. The silence was heavy on their shoulders, the air clung sickly to their skin. When they came to the Forest Road their going became easier, but they started to see webs - great gauzy things stretching from tree to tree, with owls and magpies and even foxes dangling stiffly from them, cocooned in white shrouds. None of the webs stretched over the Road, and Radagast took it for a good sign, but he was on edge as much as the elves were.

They were almost more relieved to find evidence that orcs had been there, because orcs they knew how to fight, and there was nothing strange about them. They had cut crude paths straight through the forest; chopped off branches and hacked at roots, left trees bleeding. But they, too, had kept away from the Forest Road, as if they still feared the power left around it. When evening fell the elves made their camp in the middle of the Road. They spread out their bedrolls on the cobbles, because they did not dare to go into the forest.

The next day they found out what made the webs - one of their scouts found it, or rather, he was found. There was a rustle in the branches above the road and a panicked scream, then a shrill hissing cry that was like nothing Merilin had ever heard. Other scouts rushed through the trees; on the ground, Duneirien drew her bow, and shot at something in the dark above her head. The creature fell with a hiss and a click of claws and landed on the road.

It lay wailing and writhing in the snow. Someone leaned to the side and went sick. Merilin felt like she might too.

It was a spider - but spiders cannot get that large. It had eight pale eyes that stared at them and eight legs kicking madly at the air. The blood that oozed from the arrow wound flowed black and thick over the snow.

Duneirien drew her hunting knife and hacked at the soft belly until the legs went still and the spider's eyes rolled back. The scout who had been assaulted came stumbling to the ground, aided by his companions; he was pale and wide-eyed and cradled his arm. Duneirien helped him off with his bracer and tore the sleeve open so she could see the gash.

"Careful", someone said from the shadows. "Most everything about those are poisonous."

They all jumped. Not even the keen-eyed hunters had noted the elf when she came; but now she stood there beside the Road, with her copper hair bound in a thick braid, and a white fur over her shoulders.

Merilin unconsciously laid a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Who are you, and where did you come from?"

"We've been watching you for a while", the elf said. Her eyes were as dark as the Shadow, and when she talked her mouth strained against an old burn scar. As if on cue, other elves became visible in the trees where a moment before there had been nothing.

"Greetings, Ninniach", Radagast said softly, and the copper-haired elf turned to him. "It is good to see you again."

"It is good to see you too, old friend, and so soon."

"Ninniach", Merilin mumbled, and then she finally recognised the elf. "Ninniach - I know you! You were my mother's maid..."

"I know you! Ninniach - Ninniach, my mother's maid..."

"So I was", said the elf with a hint of a smile. "And you are lady Merilin. You have grown since we last met."

And you have changed, Merilin thought. She remembered Ninniach in the old hall, how she sat before the fire and sung over her needlework, and she wondered if Ninniach wanted those days back as much as she did.

"I come on behalf of the Elvenqueen", she said. "I have dire news, and I need to speak to the elves of the shadow-wood. All of them - or as many as possible."

Ninniach nodded gravely. "You are always welcome here, my lady."

"Would the elves listen? Would they gather if I asked them to?"

"Whether they would listen or not is up to you", Ninniach said. "They are already gathering. We have not held council for many years, but now we must, for the Shadow is on the march. Come. They will gather in the old hall, and you may stay in our settlement until then."

* * *

Legolas stood in the entrance hall and watched a pile of fire-wood grow bigger and bigger in his arms. The foresters had brought in a storm-felled beech that morning, and over a dozen elves were engaged in cutting and hewing it, splintering smaller branches into kindling and turning bigger ones into neat pieces of fire-wood. Lindir helped too, but Legolas was considered too young for the axe, so he'd been given the honorary task of carrying the fire-wood downstairs to the store-rooms.

There was another one the elves thought too young to chop fire-wood, and that was Tilwine. He had already proved hopeless with a sword and no one trusted him to be any better with the axe. Expect, of course, Tilwine himself. Even though he was a guest and did not have to help at all, he had insisted on it, and the elves eyed him anxiously every time he raised the axe.

Tilwine laughed at them. "What do you expect? That I will cut my own hands off? I am one of the best swordsmen in Aldburg!"

"Then the swordsmen of Aldburg must be a sad lot", the elves replied. "Or perhaps there are only swords _women_."

"Ye gods, people! Scead, tell them I can actually chop wood without killing myself."

Scead, who sat beside Ninneth on a bench and held her distaff while she spun yarn, shook his head. "I would not bet as much as a boot strap on it. You are a fine warrior, Tilwine, but you haven't done much household duties in your life."

"Then perhaps you should make yourself useful and show us how it's supposed to be done."

"No, no, no!" the elves said. "Scead is not well yet, he must not strain himself."

Scead made a face and looked sadly at his distaff, as if he wished it would have been an axe instead. A couple days ago he had seemed to be recovering, but then he had fallen sick again, and while Tilwine had been sparring with the warriors and had snow-ball fights on the courtyard, Scead had only watched. Now he was better, but he had not been able to go to Netherford and get hired as a mercenary with Tilwine.

"At least let me carry this", he said, and relieved Legolas of half his armful of fire-wood. "I cannot stand to be still any more. Forgive me, Ninneth, but I must use my hands for something."

They took the fire-wood to the store-room outside the kitchen, and Legolas stood on a chair and piled the pieces that Scead handed him in neat rows. It was hot down there as usual and the smell of grilled fish and baked potatoes filled their noses.

"You are very quiet today, Legolas", Scead said as they worked. "Lost in thought, are you?"

"Mm."

"Something troubling you?"

Legolas shook his head, standing on the tip of his toes to reach. "I need... I want to get out of Rivendell. Not far, only to the river. But I'm not allowed to go there."

"No one is. Not with the goblins about."

"But no one's even seen the goblins!"

"Why is it so important?"

"Nothing", Legolas said, but it was not true. He should have met Quick-wing by the river Bruinen three days ago, but he had not been able to get out. By now the sparrow-hawk must be wondering if he was alright. Perhaps he would fly into Rivendell, and the black bird would get him.

"I wonder how long we'll have to stay inside."

"Not too long, surely", Scead said. "I'm starting to feel closed in too. As soon as the goblins are gone, maybe we can ride out - I am sure the elves will be glad to show us around the lands."

But 'soon' seemed to take an eternity to come. Glorfindel still kept twice as many guards around Rivendell as usual, and Legolas was not even allowed to go to the fourth stream without company.

He did try to sneak out once, but to no avail. He got as far as to where the southern path met the cliff-wall, all the way across the valley and on the other side as the forest, but once there he realised there was simply no getting out unnoticed, not while there was a guard there. The ground levelled just below the cliff, and the trees ended, and there was absolutely no place to hide. He thought he might persuade the guard to let him pass - but with so many elves headed south with the twins, there was not enough regular guards for the double watches, and it was Echail who stood there where the path began its zig-zag ascent out of the valley. Some of his friends had decided to keep him company too; Tilwine and a couple of elves were joking around with practise swords a little ways down the slope.

Legolas was about to back away, but then he stopped. If he didn't at least try he would have failed Tinuhen. So he asked Echail, as politely as he ever could, if the valley was still closed, or if he could pass.

"Of course it is still closed", Echail said and leaned sulkily on his spear. It seemed he would much rather be over by his friends. "As you very well know."

"I thought, since the goblins aren't here - "

"We do not know that yet."

"It's important - "

Echail sighed. "Of course it is. Everything you do is very important. Are you talking to birds again?"

"No", Legolas said and felt his face heating. He shouldn't feel ashamed, but he could not help it.

"Then go away. You are wasting my time."

Legolas scowled at him. He'd known it was no use, but Echail didn't have to be so mean about it. He raised his chin. "What time am I wasting anyway? All you do is stand here and admire Tilwine's golden hair."

"You little -!"

It was Echail's turn to blush. He gripped his spear so tightly Legolas thought it best to back away. That was that, then, he thought when he walked back down the path and in between the trees. Quick-wing would have to wait.

If only there was some other way he could help. If only he could have figured out who the traitor might be, or something else of importance; but though Legolas had been with the noldor for several weeks now, there was not a single one that felt like a traitor. Before he got to know them he had thought it could be anyone, but now he was not so sure.

But if no one could be the traitor, but someone had to be - then that meant again it could be anyone. And that meant that Legolas had either to trust everyone, or no one at all.

* * *

His best bet, Legolas thought, was to get to know as many elves as possible, and listen to their gossip and their stories, because maybe he could figure out that way who might have a reason to betray Greenwood - and lord Elrond. So he helped the stable-boys and the kitchen-maids, and he fletched arrows with the hunters and helped with the preparations for Midwinter and Yule, until he was almost as familiar around Rivendell as he was around the Mountain at home. The elves taught him the secrets of the House - hidden doors and short-cuts, built so laundry and chamber pots could be brought downstairs without being noticed by the highborn - and Legolas memorised everything they said, from the arts of cooking to politics and etiquette. The noldor, even the lowborn, talked much more about politics than the wood-elves did, but somehow it was not so hard to understand when it came from the mouth of a kitchen-maid.

One afternoon, ten days before Midwinter, Legolas followed Lindir and Ninneth to the Hall of Artefacts and they waited together outside the carved oaken doors until Erestor turned up with the key. Legolas doubted he'd find the traitor in the library, but if Erestor knew as much as everyone said he did, maybe something of it could be of importance. And Legolas had to admit, though he would never tell Tinuhen, that he was a bit curious about the library.

Erestor seemed glad to have him there. His eyes gleamed when he turned the silver key around in its lock.

"Behold", he said and pushed the doors open. "The magnificent library of Rivendell!"

It was a room... with books. Legolas had expected something more special, something splendid and magical that fit behind locked doors - but a room with books was all that it was. A fine room, of course, bright and airy with plenty of armchairs, and deep-set windows were one could sit in private under silver chandeliers. The rest were shelves. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves, all filled with books - green books and red books, black books and brown books, large and small, most old and some new. There was a book so big Legolas doubted he could lift it, and some that were locked behind thick glass.

Erestor smiled and breathed in the scent of leather and parchment. Then he clapped his hands together. "So - what do you think?"

"Uh", Legolas said. "There's... a lot of books."

"Oh, yes. There _is_ a lot of books", Erestor said. He had stars in his eyes. "I have spent many years collecting them. No one writes as many books now as they used to, so most of these are old, and some are the last of their kind. They are from Gondolin, from Númenor, from Doriath and Rhûn. And two, only two, and they are locked away - I can show you, if you are interested. They were written in Valinor and brought to Middle Earth over Helcaraxë."

"What are they all about?"

Erestor laughed. "Everything from the Wars of the Silmarils to the art of paper folding. For several years now I have tried to convince lord Círdan to give up _The Family Ties of Upper Tirion,_ an undamaged original - not that the book itself is important, but the subject - and the age - and the condition - which the sea winds of the Havens will completely ruin if..."

"Erestor", Lindir said in a tone that clearly said he'd heard about _The Family Ties of Upper Tirion_ one too many times.

Erestor sighed. "Forgive me, young ones. One day lord Círdan may see reason, but until then, I shall not complain. We are not here, actually, to talk about books. Come!"

And Erestor led them to the back of the library, where there were two doors. Behind one of them (the other was locked, which Legolas found out when Erestor wasn't looking) was a smaller room stuffed with heaps and rolls and stacks of parchment and paper. Erestor asked Ninneth to light the fire and the others to get comfortable on the hearth rug while he searched through a barrel of rolled-up maps. The one he finally spread out over the floor, and secured with small brass weights at the corners, showed the Wild. There were the Misty Mountains to the far left, with a tiny red arrow pointing to the House of Elrond at the very edge of the map. Then came Anduin, all the way down to the northern eaves of Lórien, and Greenwood the Great, stretching proudly over a large portion of the map, and finally Dale and the Iron Hills, and another arrow pointing past the right edge of the map and marked _Rhûn_.

"You already know this map, of course", Erestor said, "but I thought you might be interested in seeing where Legolas' companions are, and where Elladan and Elrohir have camped. Ninneth, your father is with them, is he not?"

"Yes."

"Our elves are here", Erestor said and pointed to a mountain almost at the northern edge of Lothlorien. _Caradhras_ it said in letters small enough to have been written by a mouse. "This is the way they have taken - here is where the pass over the Gladden River goes. If the Dimrill Stair is unbreachable they may take that way to reach the wood-elves."

"But that's closer to Rivendell", Legolas said. "Why don't Beren take that pass?"

"It is not well known", Erestor said, "and of all places in the mountains it will please wood-elves the least. The sons of Elrond know the way though, and it is a last resort. And this - " he moved his finger to the eastern side of the mountains, no further than a day's ride from the twins - "is where Beren ought to be. The Dimrill Stair starts about here, and leads up the side of Caradhras, through the pass we call the Redhorn Gate. Not a pleasant road that, either."

No, it did not look a pleasant road. Caradhras was an ominous name, and there was not an elf in the world that did not know about the balrog the dwarves woke in Moria. The Redhorn Gate was where Celebrían had been attacked. Legolas did not like the thought of his friends stuck up there, but it was close to Lórien, and although father said the tree-people rarely cared what happened outside their borders maybe they would help their own kin.

Erestor spread a new map, a freshly made one with startlingly black ink on almost white parchment, over the first. It showed the kingdom of Rohan. Erestor pointed out Aldburg where Tilwine had served King Eorl, and where Scead also had lived though not as a warrior, and then they talked about Eorl the Young and how he won Calenadhorn from the wildmen, and the move of the éoréd from their lands in the north. Erestor told it like a story, not an account. His hands moved like bird's wings when he spoke, and his eyes shone, and Legolas could almost see the fair-haired riders as they came over the green hills, their round shields held high, blood staining their swords. In his mind they were tall and proud like Tilwine, and he was there, riding at the side of Eorl the Young, like in the war-songs he liked to sing in the Hall of Fire.

It darkened while Erestor spoke, and when they left the library the chandeliers had been lit in the Hall of Artefacts, and the helmet of Legolas of Gondolin glinted. Legolas glanced out the windows. The twilight sky was a dark velvet blue, but still brighter to the west. The stars were coming out. Two elves stood guard by the southern bridge, armour glinting in the light of their own torches.

"What is that?" Ninneth asked suddenly. She was looking out too, and her sharp eyes had caught something moving at the edge of the forest. As the others strained to see it it came hastily closer, past the torches of the sentinels and into the light spilling through the windows of the house.

It was a horse. It halted in a flurry of snow before the front stair, stumbling under the weight of two riders - one held tightly in the other's arms, slumping against his chest. It was too dark to see their faces, but they wore elven armour. Higher up on the mountainside, where the southern path led down into the valley, a row of torches had appeared.

"Maybe it's Beren", Legolas said, but Erestor shook his head.

"It is too soon. I wonder if - by the Valar, is it the twins?"

When Legolas looked down again he realised it must be. At that distance there was no way he could tell them apart, but he saw the foremost of them being lifted off the horse by the bridge guards, though once on the ground he could stand with their arms under his. The other dismounted and moved to stand by himself with his arms around his lean frame. Lord Elrond came down the stair. When he led his stumbling son into the house, the other followed like a shadow.

Erestor left the window and Legolas, Lindir and Ninneth hurried after him to the entrance hall, where a crowd had already gathered and Glorfindel was barking our orders to prepare the stables and the healing ward. Legolas had never seen him so upset. When Erestor asked what was happening, Glorfindel's voice broke in withheld anger.

"We were wrong about the goblins."

"Yes?"

"They left these parts of the mountains long ago." Glorfindel paced by the open doors and it seemed to take all his willpower not to punch something very hard. Erestor was the only one who dared to stand in the line of fire. "They went south."

"South", Erestor repeated - then he paled. "Valar have mercy - they attacked..."

"Elladan is injured. Others, too, but none too seriously - or so Elrohir said. We lost a few horses."

"And Elrohir?"

"He would not say much. His eyes said enough. To be honest I do not know how he led the elves home on his own - not without Elladan, not from that place. I did not think he had it in him."

Legolas was almost afraid to ask with the elf-lord in this mood, but he had to. "What about the wood-elves?"

Glorfindel's face softened, and he stopped pacing. "Elrohir though it safe enough to leave them. They killed nearly all the goblins and found no signs of others in the area."

"But you don't know."

"No", Glorfindel said gravely. "We do not know."

They waited. The stars came out and still the torches wandered slowly down the cliffside, the foremost ones glinting now and then among the trees. Glorfindel sent elves out to meet them, and soon the first riders came over the southern bridge, and some were laid on stretchers and carried off to the healing ward. Most elves were not so badly wounded, and could walk on their own.

They did not see lord Elrond again, but Echail was there helping elves off their horses. His eyes were downcast and he limped worse than ever, as if some memory made the old injury pain him like when it was new. Ninneth ran off to search for her father. Arwen talked soothingly to a young warrior who could not stop shaking. Legolas and Lindir helped to take care of the horses; they were stumbling with weariness, wide-eyed with fear and shying at the smell of blood and steel. Legolas' own heart was pounding. If something did happen to Beren, they would have nowhere to go.

Eventually things calmed down. The horses were calmed, rubbed down and watered, the wounded elves taken care of, and the rest had their scratches and bruises cleaned and were sent to the Hall of Fire where the others had gathered. Glorfindel passed a bottle of _míruvor_ around, and when everyone had had a sip they felt well enough to tell more about the goblin-raid.

"We'd been there a couple of days when it happened", one of them began. "It took us some three days to reach the pass and since then all we did was hauling stones. I've never seen so many stones. It's like someone's deliberately tried to block the Stair."

Legolas pulled his legs up under him. Maybe, he thought, it was.

"The day before it happened, we could hear the wood-elves on the other side, and they heard us. We knew there was still several day's of work before us, and it was too far to shout, but that day we worked harder than ever, and when evening came we were exhausted."

Glorfindel's eyes were like flint. "So you let your guard down."

The elves shifted uncomfortably and mumbled that maybe, possibly, they had let their guard down a little.

"All of us were at the smaller camp", one of them said. "It wasn't the most sheltered of places. The goblins came from above, and scaled the cliffs not far from us. There was a heavy snow-fall. We couldn't see anything."

"How many might they have been?" another asked aloud. "Twenty, thirty? With such small numbers I'd say they didn't know we were elves."

"Perhaps they thought you were companions of Scead and I", Tilwine suggested. "If these are the same goblins we met, maybe they thought others must be nearby and that they might have gold."

Glorfindel nodded his agreement. "That would explain why we have seen their tracks so close to our borders. They were looking for kin to you, and when they heard of our elves moving south, they thought it must be it. So how many did you kill, and how many escaped?"

The elves looked at each other.

"I daresay only two or three escaped", one said.

"No, no", said another. "There were more. And there was the big one that went for Elladan - he had some sort of cloak on. Elrohir set after him but I don't think he ever got him."

"He didn't", said Ninneth's father. He was short and lean like his daughter, but had cunning eyes. "The one in the cloak got away. He had a body-guard. Even Elrohir realised it was too dangerous to pursue."

"A big goblin in a cloak", Erestor said. "Did you see any such goblin, Tilwine?"

"Uh", Tilwine said.

"I did", said Scead. "I saw him. A velvet cloak - purple I think, though it was hard to tell under all that dirt. Obviously stolen. Their leader, no doubt."

"Some kind of lowly war-lord", Glorfindel mused. "Might have thought you were merchants heading for Netherford, with gold and wares. Hopefully it is nothing more than that, and all we hear of goblins this winter."

Legolas wrapped his arms around him and hoped that Glorfindel was right, but deep inside he knew it wasn't so. The Stair being blocked, the goblins attacking just as the elves were getting closer to each other, the traitor and that secret meeting - somehow those were pieces of the same puzzle, and Legolas was perhaps the only one who had them all. If only he had known what to do with them. If only he had been braver and more clever. If only Tinuhen had been in Rivendell, and Legolas in the mountains, where he did not have to do everything on his own.

"Here", Scead said and squeezed his shoulder. "Are you worried for your father? Beren, was that his name?"

Legolas buried his face in his arms and didn't answer. What he wanted to say was, no, Beren's not my father, because my father is the Elvenking and he is in danger too and no one tells me about it, because they don't think it matters, and they don't know anything anyway; but I'm worried for my brother Tinuhen, and I'm tired, so tired of lying.

But he didn't say it. It was too dangerous.

* * *

The twins did not turn up for dinner, nor did they turn up for breakfast the next day. Legolas learned from Lindir that Elladan was still in the healing ward and that Elrohir refused to leave his side. Maybe he could not stand to be out among people without his brother at his side.

But most other elves had left the healing ward come morning, and breakfast was noisy and cheerful. The warriors bragged about kills they'd made and back-stabs they'd avoided, the others teased them for being taken by surprise, and only Echail was unusually quiet. Legolas did not want to listen to them. He did not want to think about goblins.

He spent the morning in the old oak in the garden, hiding like when he had just arrived in Rivendell. When he grew tired of watching people walk past, he fetched _Tales from Doriath_ from his room and thought to sit in the Hall of Artefacts and read; but the library doors were open and lady Arwen sat outside them. She had two piles of books beside her, and seemed to have been in the middle of sorting them when she lost herself in one. Legolas didn't want to bother her. He went to the only other part of the house where it was always quiet - the healing ward.

It was a long corridor, with doors on both sides and a great window at the far end that let in the sunlight. Two elves in pale blue robes stood talking under the window, one with an armful of neatly folded linens and the other with a basket of dried herbs. As so often in Rivendell most doors stood open, but one of them was almost closed and lord Elrond stood outside it, with a foot in the opening to keep it from shutting completely.

"Elrohir, dear, I beg you..."

"I said no", came Elrohir's voice from the other side.

"Your brother can be without you for ten minutes. Please, Elrohir, for his sake - you must..."

Legolas backed away. He was desperately curious, but he had no right to listen. He thought lord Elrond would give up, but after a long while there was the sound of a door closing, and when lord Elrond turned the corner Elrohir walked behind him. The younger elf looked like he had not slept since he returned last night, nor had he changed clothes, and he could hardly have washed. Lord Elrond tried to put a hand around his son's shoulders, but Elrohir shrugged it off.

Legolas waited until they were out of sight, then slipped into the healing ward. The door was closed again, and when he knocked, only silence answered him.

"It's me", he said. "Are you awake?"

There was a deep sigh. "Go away."

Legolas hesitated. He had not planned this at all. He was not even sure what he was doing.

"But..."

"I'm tired."

Nervously he pressed _Tales from Doraith_ to his chest. It gave him an idea.

"I, uh... I thought you wanted something to read", he said to the closed door. "I have a book."

Elladan was quiet again. Then: "Thank you, Legolas, but Elrohir will be back soon."

"Yes, but..."

"Besides, Arwen already promised me to fetch me a book." A moment later he confessed: "That was a while ago."

"Maybe she forgot."

Elladan sighed, as if he had no strength to argue. "Very well then. Come on in."

Legolas pushed the door open and looked inside with the book clutched to his chest. It was a small room, and very sparse, but the window was large and let in the afternoon light. Elladan half-sat against a pile of pillows. He was pale and hollow-eyed, and bandages were visible through the un-tied neck-slit of his linen shirt. An embroidered blanket was thrown over his legs.

"Do not stand there in the doorway", he said, nodding at the empty chair beside the bed. Legolas sat down on the edge of the chair and noted with fascination the various scars in different stages of healing and fading that covered Elladan's arms and shoulders. There were many scarred warriors in Greenwood, but few as badly as Elladan.

"Is Elrohir coming back?"

"Sooner or later. Once he has washed and changed. Maybe eaten, if father can make him." At first it seemed that was all Elladan was going to say, but then he must have decided that since Legolas was there, they could as well talk. "Let me see that book, then, will you? I have never seen this one. Where did you get it?"

"Hawn gave it to me. The ranger, you know."

"I know him. Huh. _Tales from Doriath_... have you read all of them?"

"Almost."

"Which ones haven't you read?"

Legolas took the book back and flipped through it. "This one... The Thief in the Wine-Cellar. And the last one."

Elladan shifted slightly so he could peer over Legolas shoulder, but it seemed to hurt him, and he lay back against the pillows with a grimace. "If ever you have to battle goblins, Legolas, watch for the little sneaky ones. They are fond of poisoned daggers."

"You've been poisoned?"

"It hurts more than it kills", Elladan assured him. He gestured for _Tales from Doriath_ , and Legolas gave it to him. They sat in silence for a while, Elladan looking through the book and Legolas watching the floral pattern on the wall and thinking about nothing in particular. Elrohir did not return.

"Have you read this one?" Elladan asked. "Amdir the Archer. There's a dragon on the picture."

"Yeah. It's one of the best."

"I am not really in the mood to read", Elladan said. "Too tired, and my head hurts. But since you offered to keep me company, little one, I have a suggestion."

"I'm not little!"

"Yes you are", Elladan said and smiled briefly. "You are shorter than Lindir. Do you want to hear the suggestion or not?"

"I do."

"If you read to me", he held the book up, "then I'll do something for you, something you want - I don't know what it should be, but - "

"Archery!" Legolas burst out. "You can teach me some archery, right? I already practise at home but mother says it's good to learn from different people, and you're an archer!"

"Well, so I am", Elladan said and blinked. "I... uh, I suppose I could teach you some."

"Though... I don't read very fast."

"Doesn't matter. I can listen slowly."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Elladan smiled again. For a moment - a very brief moment - Legolas thought he could imagine how the elf had been once, before his mother was captured by the orcs. Then he remembered something.

"If I do something else for you", he said, "would you do something else for me?"

"Like what?"

"I want to see what it looks like outside Rivendell", Legolas said. "I want to go to the river, at least. But I can't go there now, with the goblins and all - but you're a warrior. If you followed maybe Erestor would take me there, with Lindir and Ninneth, because he said he wanted to. If you protected us..."

"Oh", Elladan said. "I am... not very fond of leisure rides with lots of people. I would rather not go."

Legolas' heart sank. "I see."

Elladan was quite a while. Then he tilted his head to the side. "There is one thing that might make this whole being poisoned business feel a bit better. If - _if_ \- you could bring me that I would definitely owe you a ride. Elrohir and I know some of the merchants at Netherford's Midwinter market, and our father has asked us to go this year. Some herbs and medicines you can only find if you know who to ask. That would be something to see, I believe."

"I'd love to see market!"

"Yes, I think you would. It would be a rather long ride, too. But... it won't be easy for you to get hold of what I want."

"I can try."

"It might be dangerous."

"I'm not scared."

"You are a brave young elf", Elladan said gravely. "Do you know where lord Elrond has his chambers? In the first room, in the rose-wood sideboard under the tapestry with Ëarendil - you'll see it - there's a small collection of Dorwinion wine. Small bottles, a dark red wine. There's a star on the label. Maybe you know it."

"I know it. Father drinks it a lot."

"I cannot blame him", Elladan said. "It's become very hard to come by now, what with all the political troubles in Dorwinion. _My_ father is very sparse with them."

"So..." Legolas narrowed his eyes. "You want me to steal one, then?"

"I am his son, so it is not stealing", Elladan said. "More like borrowing. And if you do get caught - not that I think you will, wood-elf as you are - I will make sure you do not get into trouble. All the blame will be on me."

Legolas did not even hesitate. He needed to get out of Rivendell and if that meant he had to steal invaluable wine from an elf-lord, so be it. He could be brave for his friends. And he was, like Elladan said, a wood-elf.

"All right", he said. "I'll get you a bottle. Then you take me to the Midwinter market. Deal?"

"Deal", Elladan said. "And you read me a story now and I show you some archery later." He gave the book to Legolas, open on the page where Amdir the Archer began. "If you say this one is the best, I want to hear it."

The story was a long one, and since Legolas did not read very fast, he had not come halfway when Elrohir returned. But Elrohir did not say anything.

He only sat down on the foot of the bed and listened until the story was finished, and by then Elladan was sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a slight change that none of you will notice, but Tilwine and Scead aren't from Edoras as I wrote in the last chapter, since Edoras isn't built yet. Aldburg was the capital of Rohan while Eorl the Young ruled it and that's where they come from. I'll change it in the previous chapter one day when I don't feel lazy. Which is never..
> 
> I hope you still like the story, the chapters keep getting slowly but steadily longer and I just hope the pacing doesn't get too slow. Thank you for reading, please review! :)


	16. A Bottle of Dorwinion

Stealing wine from lord Elrond, it turned out, wasn't as easy as it sounded.

Mountain storms swept the valley in thick snow for two days, and the biting winds forced everyone to stay inside. They gathered in the warmth and noise of the Hall of Fire and entertained themselves with games and songs while the winds raged outside and the pine trees creaked in protest. The birds sought shelter where they could find it. The wind shook the windows, howled through the corridors and blew out all the chandeliers so fast it was no use to light them again.

It was easy to slip away from the commotion of the Hall of Fire and steal down the empty and darkened corridors unseen. But once Legolas came to the long, carpeted hallway that led to the intersection where lord Elrond's chambers lay, somehow or other, he was always hindered. If lord Elrond himself wasn't there - and he often was - it was one of his counsellors in the room next door, or Arwen curled up in the window outside with a book, or someone sweeping the floor. He did not dare to linger outside for fear of waking suspicions, so for two days, he ran from the Hall of Fire and back several times, but he never got a chance to get inside the room.

On the third morning he woke not by the raging winds, but by a silence that was almost eerie after the storms. He could lie in the bleak morning light and listen to his own breaths and the sighs of the forest outside as the trees stretched and yawned, blinking at the first ray of sunlight. Legolas stretched too, like a cat on a sun-warm stone, and sat up.

Lord Elrond was bound to go outside after two days of bad weather. Today, he thought, today I can surely do it. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and begun to stand when someone knocked lightly on the door.

"Coming", he said, thinking it must be Lindir or Ninneth, and pulled his trousers on before he opened - but it was Elladan, finally released from the healing ward. He was already dressed and had his hair in braids, and the colour had returned to his cheeks.

"You ready?"

"For what?"

"Archery", Elladan said, and smiled at the way Legolas brightened. "Get dressed and follow me."

They went outside. The world looked new and strange under all the snow. The courtyard was almost empty; it was too early for most noldor, but from the kitchen came the smell of fried eggs and newly baked bread, and the sounds of an axe against a chopping block echoed over the house. Elrohir waited by the armoury. He stood leaning to the sunny wall and for once he seemed relaxed, maybe because there was no one else around. He had brought two long daggers that he promised to show how to throw.

Inside the armoury, Elladan picked out a bow the right size, then helped strap a bracer to Legolas' arm and a quiver over his shoulder. He was quiet as usual, but not unfriendly. From the armoury they went in between the trees on the outskirts of the gardens and walked over the cliffs that surrounded the House of Elrond. That way they came to an archery range tucked away on the backside of the house. Legolas would never have known about it if he had not explored the house and its surroundings so thoroughly, and he had never seen anyone there, but he wasn't surprised the twins chose that place for their lesson.

"We'll start with something simple", Elladan said. "You'll want to get used to that bow, and I believe it was a long time since you last practised archery?"

"It was", Legolas said. The bow was heavier than he was used to, but Elladan had said it was the right weight, so maybe he had got stronger.

Elrohir sat on the fence under a large oak while Elladan went through a number of basic exercises, most of which Legolas had already done at home, to see his stance and technique. He said Legolas had had good training, but he needed routine - and the only way to get routine was to practise, and practise, and practise the basics.

"So?" Elladan said, kneeling beside Legolas to correct the position of his hands. "How's it going?"

"How's what going?"

"Your mission. With the wine." Elladan glanced down the length of the arrow and Legolas struggled to keep his hands from shaking after holding the bow drawn for so long. "The Midwinter market opens today and will close in exactly a week. By then, you'll need that bottle."

By then it would be too late, Legolas thought, if it wasn't already. Even if he stole the wine today and they rode off tomorrow, Tinuhen must already be on his way to Rivendell before Quick-wing could reach him; if he wasn't, he would never be in time for the council.

"I'll think of something."

"I'm sure you will. Now fire!"

The arrow buried itself into the edge of the target. In the last second, Legolas had lost focus of his aim and thought about something else. Mother would have said that if he didn't pay more attention, a bird could swoop down and steal his head and he would never notice.

It had occurred to Legolas that he might tell Elladan the truth. That if it had ever seemed reasonable to go against Tinuhen's orders it was now, and if there was anyone Legolas trusted it was Elladan. But Elladan would tell lord Elrond and lord Elrond would tell his counsellors and lord Glorfindel and Echail, and one of them - one of them could be the traitor. Unless he told about the traitor too, so lord Elrond would know to keep quiet about it.

But lord Elrond, Legolas thought as he reached for another arrow, would not believe a scrawny elfling of less than sixty summers rather than one of his most trusted counsellors. And again he thought that if only he had been older - if only he had been old enough to know what to do and old enough for people to listen to him... He drew and fired the second arrow just for the satisfaction of hearing it _twack_ into the hay target.

To his surprise, it hit the centre.

"Look at that!" Elladan said and clapped his hands together. "Excellent shot, little one. Though I believe you didn't mean to do that, did you?"

Legolas lowered the bow. "No."

"Sometimes the best way to aim is not to aim at all", Elladan said. "Your head will never be quicker than your hands and your eyes, so sometimes you must forget to think and let your eyes and hands decide. That doesn't mean inattention is ever a good thing, though."

"I know." Legolas frowned. Why was it that adults always turned praise into lessons? He wouldn't have lost focus if Elladan hadn't asked him about the bottle. And he was tired of practising the basics - he had done that enough at home.

Elladan must have seen his disappointment. He took the bow and an arrow from Legolas' quiver, drew and fired in one smooth motion, then swirled around and shot three arrows in the fence behind them even before Legolas had realised he'd taken them from his quiver. He had seen the archers at home do similar things, but it was impressive nonetheless.

"During a hunt or a battle, it is all about quick decisions", Elladan said. "You may find yourself with enemies all around, or three deer fleeing in different directions, and if you hesitate ever so slightly they'll be gone. Or upon you, if they are enemies."

He fired another arrow, dangerously close to his brother. Elrohir, who had looked another way and seemingly been lost in thought, caught in in mid-air.

"You do not have as much as a heartbeat to think about the archery itself, which is why you must practise it until it is as natural as breathing. There comes a point when you can fire an arrow before you've even finished thinking about firing it, and that's when you'll know the true joy of archery."

Elrohir fiddled with the arrow Elladan had shot at him. Suddenly he threw it - it made a few perfect somersaults before it buried itself in the snow between Elladan's feet. Elladan twirled around.

"Are we throwing sharp things now?"

Elrohir did not exactly smile, but the corner of his mouth curved upward a little.

"Bows and arrows", he said, "can be used in many other ways than what they are intended for. For example, they make decent daggers is the need arises."

"And of course you had to demonstrate", said Elladan.

"You shot an arrow at me to demonstrate whatever you wanted to demonstrate."

"Fair enough", Elladan admitted. "Keep this in mind, Legolas - if you're ever in a tight spot, you must use what you have, even if it's unconventional. Arrows have many uses, and a bow can be used as a staff if you need one. They are good for hitting people in the head, too."

"Have you ever done that?"

"It has happened. And Glorfindel likes to hit his trainees if they do not pay attention. Or Elrohir, when he gets bored and start throwing daggers. Speaking of daggers, Elrohir..."

But when Elladan turned towards his brother, he suddenly became very still. Elrohir had frozen like a statue. Legolas followed their gazes - and jumped.

Neither he nor the twins had heard the elf-lord when he approached, but Glorfindel stood not far from the fence, watching them. He wasn't alone. While Legolas and the twins had been focused on the archery, a small audience had gathered around them, and lord Elrond stood in a window on the second floor looking out.

Legolas felt his cheeks heat, even though it wasn't him everyone was looking at. This must be the first time since their mother was attacked that the twins did something like this - something out in the open, with others, instead of hiding by themselves away from everyone. Elladan had smiled more today than all the other days Legolas had known him together. Of course the noldor must wonder why, and how, and if it would last.

But it wouldn't last, not as long as they were watching. As quick as April-weather goes from sunlight to rain, the twins had become silent and brooding.

Elrohir slipped from the fence. "Let's go."

Elladan hesitated.

"We will get no privacy here. The lesson is over, Legolas."

"Is it?" Legolas asked, looking at the older twin. "Is it over?"

Elladan gritted his teeth. He didn't look at Legolas, didn't seem to remember he was there - it was just Elladan and Elrohir and Glorfindel and their father, and months of silence and sorrow hung over their heads. Maybe the twins had cloaked themselves in grief for so long it had become a protection, the way lady Arwen cloaked herself in books and people, and lord Elrond in work. And when they chose to be talkative and friendly and have a lesson with Legolas, they left their protection behind and it made them vulnerable; and they could do it for him, but they weren't prepared to do the same for everyone.

Then Elladan looked down, and he could see Legolas again. He smiled. "Of course not it's not over. You read all that long story to me, and it would not be fair if all you got was to train some basics. We have at least one ting left. Elrohir, come over here! You did promise to show us some knife-throwing."

Elrohir, with his back pressed against the fence, shook his head.

"We all know you have the best aim", Elladan said, "so if I do it it's not use."

"I won't."

"Please", Elladan said. "Just this once."

Elrohir begun to shook his head again, but faltered. For a moment he stood still and his expression was unreadable. The elves around them had gone quiet; even the trees stood silent and watched, but Legolas could sense their earnest encouragement through the frozen earth and he hoped that somehow Elrohir could feel it too.

Then, as if a battle had been fought and a part of him that wanted to be happy again and friendly and talkative had won it, he left the fence and walked across the archery range, in sight of all those who had once been his friends - those he had once fought with and sung with and laughed with without fear - and though Elrohir didn't look at them he must feel their eyes on him. He stood close to Elladan and removed the daggers from their sheaths. Quietly he showed Legolas how to hold it and how to aim. Then he raised it over his shoulder and threw it.

Like the arrow it somersaulted elegantly through the air and hit the centre of the hay target. The second dagger hit another target to the right, not an inch from the middle. He asked Legolas to gather them, then threw them more three times - but that wasn't important. He didn't let Legolas try, and he ended the lesson quickly and left so that Elladan had to run to catch up with him - but that wasn't important either.

What was important, Legolas thought as he gathered the arrows and went back to the armoury, was that something had changed. He didn't know why, or what had started it, but the twins such as they had once been were returning.

* * *

Legolas left the armoury blinking in the sunlight, and found the practise ranges outside it full of people. Now that the weather was finally better everyone wanted to be outside. In a circle fenced off with rope and poles, Tilwine was sparring with Echail, who seemed to struggle to beat him in as little a humiliating a way as he could. A lot of elves were cheering on. Scead leaned to the fence beside Glorfindel, who seemed to have been training himself and was still in only a linen shirt and suede trousers, and Legolas stopped to look.

Tilwine did better now than earlier; maybe he had finally started to learn how quick one must be to fight an elf. But Echail was on a whole other level. His swordplay was a dance designed to put as little weight as possible on his bad leg while still maintaining perfect balance. Legolas had never seen anything like it. He could not imagine how much precise calculating it must take to leap to the side, swirl around out of reach for a sword-tip and at the same time sweep down with his own sword, and doing it all without straining the bad leg or losing speed. The way Echail did it, though, made it look easy.

Legolas stepped up to the rope beside Scead.

"He's good, isn't he?" Scead said.

"He's amazing", Legolas reluctantly admitted.

"The elves say he is one of their best swordsmen."

"Was", Glorfindel corrected him. "And of course he was. I trained him, until his injury. He showed great promise."

"Doesn't he still?"

Glorfindel frowned, as if he would rather talk about something else. "He cannot be as good as he was." He flexed his fingers, seemed to contemplate leaving them, then said: "Tilwine could win, if he knew how to. See how Echail avoids his blows rather than blocking them? Tilwine is heavy and can deliver powerful blows relying on his weight alone, but Echail must use his strength to block him, and that would wear him down. As it is, he if forced to move more than he should. If Tilwine knew how to use it..."

"I thought Men never stood a chance against elves", Scead said.

"Oh, you do - but it takes a different kind of swordplay. You have to rely on weight and power to balance our swiftness and endurance. You could not take any goblin-slayer to do the job."

"In that case", Scead said, "maybe Echail was rash in challenging us both at the same time. He said that if I joined, it might be more fair. Now I am no warrior - but had I been..."

"Then it might have been too much for him. Sometimes Echail likes to forget he is no longer fully able to fight."

There were times Legolas felt sorry for Echail, even though he was always mean. He supposed that for an elite warrior like Echail, someone who longed so desperately to prove himself worthy and who loved being the centre of attention, losing the ability to go to war was worse than dying in one. Maybe Legolas would have been grumpy too if he had been Echail.

"What happened?" he asked. "I mean... with his leg."

Glorfindel sighed. His gaze became distant. "I have no right to tell you that, if he hasn't chosen to."

"Echail doesn't like me. I don't think he'll tell me anything."

"Then neither shall I." Glorfindel was quiet for a moment, then said: "Echail doesn't like you? Why not?"

"I don't know", Legolas said. "He's always mean to me."

"And you, of course, are always nice to him."

"No", Legolas said, blushing, "but he started it."

Glorfindel smiled a little. "I heard a little from Erestor - he's not one to run with gossip, mind, but I think perhaps you and Echail came off at a bad start, but that doesn't mean it's irreparable. Maybe you should try to be friendly."

"I will be friendly when he is."

"Child", Glorfindel said, "you sound exactly like your king." Then he blinked, frowned, opened his mouth to continue - and was startled by a loud cry from Tilwine. It seemed Echail, who was out of breath now and leaned heavily on his good leg, had decided it was time to get the fight over with, and ended it with three determined blows that forced Tilwine to back into the rope and fall backwards over it.

"You bastard!" Tilwine yelled, flailing like a upside-down beetle. "You were just playing with me!"

"Of course", said Echail sweetly and offered Tilwine his hand. "What else did you expect?"

Tilwine roared, grabbed Echail's outstretched arm and pulled him down over him. Echail screamed. Tilwine tried to wrestle him down in the snow, but he was too strong, and they rolled around on the ground while the other elves scattered like birds for a cat to avoid their flailing arms. When Echail finally kicked himself free he was weak with laugther and had snow in his hair. He begun to rise, but fell back down and put out his hand for something to hold onto.

In the blink of an eye Tilwine was there and pulled him up as if he weighted nothing. Echail kept laughing - then he faltered, blushed, and unconsciously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Tilwine picked up both their swords. He handed Echail his making sure their hands touched.

They went back to the armoury together.

Glorfindel watched them leave looking oddly satisfied, then turned to Legolas again and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything Lindir came running from the courtyard calling for him.

"My lord! Lord Elrond needs you - he just received a message from Saruman the White. He's in the library."

"Ah, finally. Thank you, Lindir. We'll talk again, Legolas, I'm certain."

Legolas did not breath out until Glorfindel was way out of sight. If he was lucky, Glorfindel would forget about him and the Elvenking if Saruman's message was interesting enough. He watched Tilwine and Echail walk into the armoury and wondered why Echail was no nice to the man but not to Legolas, and what had just happened between them that had made Glorfindel so smug. Then he thought about what Lindir had said. Lord Elrond in the library, Glorfindel with him - Echail in the armoury...

"Scead?"

"Yes?"

"Are you..." He hesitated. "Is it true that you are a horse-thief?"

"Ah", Scead said and looked down. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before that got out. Yes, I am a horse-thief, but I regret it now."

"Then you wouldn't... I mean... you wouldn't want to steal something again?"

Scead looked at him sharply. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Promise not to tell."

"If we are talking about stealing horses I cannot promise you that."

"It's not about horses", Legolas said told Scead about his bargain with Elladan. He explained that he did not need Scead to steal anything at all - but perhaps someone who could create a distraction.

Scead was quiet a very long while. Then, looking around to make sure no one overheard, he said: "So it is actually more of a... prank, than a theft?"

"I suppose so."

"I understand you", Scead said. "I want to get out of Rivendell too. But Tilwine and I won't be able to leave with the merchants, because I'm won't be well enough for a long journey before the market is closed. Lord Elrond says we can stay here over the winter if we need, and as grateful as I am for that my body doesn't like it. I would wish at least to see the market."

"So?"

"So we can make a bargain too", Scead said. "If I help you get that bottle of wine, you could ask the twins to take us with them. I suspect they would not have gone on their own anyway, since from what I've heard the elves wants a lot of wares from Netherford. So it should not be a problem."

"You'd help me?"

"I would."

"Now?"

Scead blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Now."

* * *

Scead made so much noise when he walked, Legolas left him at a safe distance from lord Elrond's door and went on by himself. The door beside lord Elrond's stood open to a slip, and lady Arwen sat in the window, looking out with the book forgotten in her lap and her hair like a veil over her shoulders. She heard him and turned.

"Oh, hello. Are you looking for someone?"

"Uh... no. I was just looking around. I won't bother you."

"You do not bother me", lady Arwen said. She seemed sad and gentle, but there was something wild and unruly about her too - something powerful, like a calm river that can turn into a roaring beast with the spring floods. "In fact, I have been very impolite. As the lady of this house I should have greeted you much sooner."

"It's alright", Legolas said, thinking she hadn't been the lady of the house for very long, because her mother's duty had fallen on her, and it must be a heavy burden to carry on top of everything else.

He was about to turn when she went on: "I have seen you talking to my brothers."

"Um... yes."

"They haven't let anyone that close for years. Not even me. Whatever it is you do, it is working."

"But I don't do anything", Legolas said.

Lady Arwen tilted her head to the side. "Maybe that is why it works. You do not try to change them. You do not remind them of anything - the way everyone and everything else around here does."

"I don't understand."

"You distract them", she said. "Everything else reminds them of our mother. Father, the valley, the elves - and me, of course. The mountains remind them, and the sounds of battle, and spring and the evening sun. But you? You are new and strange. You do not remind them of her." She paused and smiled, and it was like sunlight glinting on the surface of a dark lake. "Do not worry for them. Piece by piece, day by day, they will heal. You are a ray of light in their darkness, and that is all you need to be."

Legolas bit his lip and dared not look at her, so tall and queenly and sad. He had a mission.

"I have to go", he said and turned before he changed his mind.

"All clear?" Scead whispered when Legolas returned to him at the far end of the corridor.

"All clear."

"You better hide."

Legolas slipped in behind a tapestry and listened for Scead's heavy feet down the corridor. Now he must forget about the twins and lady Arwen and concentrate on that bottle. He supposed what she'd said made sense, but he could think about it later, when all this was over.

"Good morning, my lady", he heard Scead say, and balled his fists. Any minute now.

"Good morning", lady Arwen said. "Are you feeling better?"

"I, uh - I am, my lady, but... Your father has helped me so much. I should not complain."

"Do not say that", lady Arwen said. "Are you unwell? You look pale."

"Not unwell, just - dizzy..."

"Here", lady Arwen said, "are you unwell?"

Lady Arwen's feet padded softly against the floor when she slipped from the window-sill. "You have exerted yourself. Come, let me help you. We should get you to the healing ward."

"I'm sorry - I cannot - "

"Erestor! Come quickly!"

The door beside lord Elrond's was flung open. Legolas heard Scead sink to the floor and the soft rustle of Arwen's dress when she knelt beside him. An eternity passed before the elves got Scead to his feet and started leading him to the healing ward.

When he heard them retreat down the corridor, Legolas slipped out of his hiding and turned the corner just as they reached the far end. Scead staggered convincingly with one arm around Arwen's shoulder and the other around Erestor's. It would take them a while to get to the healing ward. He took a deep breath before he stepped up to lord Elrond's door, listened - then pushed it open.

The room was empty. Legolas hesitated but a moment before he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

His feet sank deep into a rich red carpet, and he breathed in the scent of bee wax candles and lavender. He stood unmoving by the door and gazed at the tapestries and the white stone walls, the round mahogany table in the middle, the armchairs by the hearth, the suit of silvery armour by the far wall, the veily silk curtains billowing in a draft. Pushed into a corner stood a large, heavy-looking chest that looked very much out of place, made of oak and beech and with inlaid silver leaves; it could have been made in Greenwood, and given as a gift long ago when gifts were passed over the Misty Mountains. Nearby, between two tall windows, hung the tapestry of Ëarendil. Below it stood a rose-wood side-board.

Legolas could not spill time on looking around. He knelt by the side-board - it was unlocked, as most things in the House of Elrond - and found it to be full of goblets and jugs and wine bottles. Six bottles of Dorwinion stood on the lower shelf. Legolas swept one in a cloth so he could carry it unnoticed, then moved the other bottles so that the missing one would not be so obvious. He straightened, beginning to turn.

"...want to agree with Saruman but it does not seem entirely honourable..."

Legolas felt his stomach fill with cold dread. Glorfindel!

"Honourable?" came lord Elrond's voice from the corridor. "No, it may not be - but perhaps necessary..."

Legolas backed, slammed into the side-board and pressed the stolen bottle to his chest. A dozen apologies and explanations rushed through his head and he discarded them all; he could not let himself be caught, he had to...

"...and Saruman was very anxious to see the council take place before Yule." Lord Elrond's voice was now just outside the door. Legolas could hear the elf-lords' light footsteps as they approached.

He did the only thing possible and bolted for the Greenwood chest.

The door knob turned. Legolas pushed the lid open - the door opened - two long shadows fell on the doorstep - and Legolas slipped inside, curling up in the dark with the bottle cradled cold and smooth in his arms. He lay as still as he could, hardly daring to breath. There was a thin crack of light. He could hear the elf-lords enter, the rustle of parchment, the chink of silverware on the table, and the sound of liquor being poured into goblets.

"Is it truly so urgent we cannot wait for one of our own members?" Glorfindel asked.

"We do not know yet if Radagast will be unable to cross the mountains", lord Elrond said. "He is a wizard, after all, as much as Saruman likes to pretend he is not - Mithrandir has always said he knows more ways across the mountains than the goblins do."

Armchairs scraped over the floor. A goblet was set down on a table close to Legolas. The elf-lords had sat down by the fireplace, and Eru knew for how long they would stay.

"Then I do not see why we should count on him not turning up."

Legolas shifted quietly inside the chest, trying to find a somewhat more comfortable position. He didn't understand much from the conversation, but the elf-lords sounded tense, and it made him suspicious. It must be the meeting that Tinuhen was supposed to join. Maybe he would finally learn something of use.

When lord Elrond spoke again he sounded weary. "Saruman... he knows, or hopes he knows, something we do not know. We shall not count on Radagast not turning up, but he must prepare for the possibility. And if Radagast is not here in time, I am not sure we can wait."

"But we know he is on his way."

"And not only he."

"What do you mean?"

"Greenwood", lord Elrond said. Legolas inhaled sharply. "Both Radagast and Mithrandir has always spoken for Greenwood's inclusion in the council, and now they are here, almost on our gates, just in time."

"You do not think..."

"It is not impossible."

"Well", Glorfindel said with an unexpected laugh, "if anyone can persuade those stubborn old goats to seek our help, it is Mithrandir."

"You do not sound dissatisfied about it."

"I am not. Out entire council is made up of stubborn goats. Two more will hardly change a thing."

Legolas frowned, thinking he should probably not tell father that Glorfindel had called him a goat. He liked the elf-lord well enough and didn't want to see him killed.

"It is not so simple", lord Elrond said. "What do we know - for certain - about Greenwood? About their ambitions? About who do they consider their allies? Very little. I wish I could trust them, truly I do, but I dare not."

"But it is not the Elven King and Queen who are here, but this Beren. Surely they would not send him in their stead?"

"I think they might. The wood-elves are different - the King and Queen would not want to keep secrets from their guard's captain, because they see themselves as all of the same mind, none wiser or more capable than the others. Honourable as that is, and wish as I may that we would let them in, we made a decision - we decided not to include Greenwood in our council, not now; not before we know more of their motives." Lord Elrond made a pause as if to drink, then went on: "If they know about the council, and Beren is here to talk about it, we must of course let him talk. It would not be a bad thing - he could tell us more about the wishes of his King and Queen, and the council might decide afterwards. But if he is here to attend the council? We cannot let strangers into our midst. If we are to re-evaluate our decision and follow Mithrandir's counsel, then that must be done after careful thinking and planning, not in a haste because they are suddenly at our gates asking to be let in."

"Then it would be better if the wood-elves arrived after the council."

"It would."

"And Radagast", Glorfindel said, "may arrive with them, since they must both cross the mountains."

"And so we cannot wait for him either."

"The wood-elves would understand that, surely, if ever they found out."

"I rather think they would wage war on us."

"Not for the first time."

"Nor for the last, I am sure."

They were joking, but to Legolas' ears their jokes sounded forced. Soon they fell silent. Then it seemed they grew restless and could not enjoy their wine; their goblets chinked on the table, and they left.

Legolas was seething with fury. He had not understood everything, but this was clear: the elf-lords knew Greenwood wanted to join their stupid council, and they were going to stop them. As if Tuiw's death wasn't enough, now the council itself was turning against them. They were even going to leave Radagast out if that meant they did not have to confront Beren about it!

Legolas climbed out of the chest and slammed it shut. He didn't feel guilty for stealing the bottle of Dorwinion anymore; in fact, it served lord Elrond right. Hopefully he'd never get hold of another bottle ever in his life. Legolas was so angry he nearly forgot to listen by the door before he opened it, but in the last minute he remembered that lady Arwen might be out there, and then he calmed down. It would do no good to get caught now. He peered through a slit between the door and the frame; she was not there, and he slipped out and ran down the corridor as fast as dared.

But Gandalf and Radagast! Legolas had forgotten they would be on the meeting. As soon as any of them arrived, he could tell them everything - because they already knew about the traitor, and they would trust him. He felt as though something very heavy had just left his chest. Although he was alone for now, all the responsibility was not on his shoulders.

He had the wine-bottle, and Elladan's promise. Tinuhen would learn all about lord Elrond's scheming, and he could decide what to do about it.

We'll show them, Legolas thought as he looked around the corridors for Elladan. We'll show them not to play tricks on Greenwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a huge mistake by not including Arwen in the story in the first place. She's one of very few canon women and she deserves so much more than a mention here and there and a few lines. Not that I've ever learnt to write her well -.- I'm working on it.
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


	17. The Midwinter Market

Elladan held his promise. They rode off one early morning three days before Midwinter, when the weary sun was still only a shimmer on the eastern sky, and twilight was still in the valley.

It was a cold morning, but fair. The last fading stars winked at them as they rode over the southern bridge.

"We have a five hour journey ahead of us", Elladan said as they rode into the silence of the frost-tinted forest. "A little more, if we stay and rest by the river."

Tilwine yawned. "Rest sounds fine."

"Rest always sounds fine to you", Echail teased him. "Rest and food! That's all you ever ask for."

The trees and their shadows were grey as stone in the morning light, silent pillars in the unbroken snow on either side of the path. The riders became silent too. Further in, the trees faded into thin white mist, and as the path started to lean slowly upwards it became a narrow bridge over a white sea. Then they rode down again, and up, and down, until suddenly the cliff wall towered above them, tinted with gold at the top.

"We should lead the horses", Elladan said, so they all dismounted, and the twins went first. Tilwine walked after them leading the creamy mare he had borrowed from the elves, and Scead was behind him with a hazel-brown gelding. Marigold seemed to think it highly unnecessary that Legolas would walk.

"I know you can take me up safely", Legolas told her, "but I feel like stretching my legs too, you see."

The guards at the foot of the cliff hailed them sleepily, leaning on their spears. Echail seemed glad he did not have to do their duty today, though he had not been very happy with riding to Netherford either - until he learnt Tilwine was going too, that was. The twins were going to show him how to get those unusual herbs that lord Elrond wanted, but they didn't seem to like him, and Echail went quiet whenever they spoke. Finally someone who shut him up, Legolas thought and didn't bother to wonder why. Echail went last, and it wasn't easy for him to get up the narrow and uneven path with his stiff leg, but he didn't complain even once.

They mounted their horses on top of the cliff and Elladan beckoned at Legolas to come and stand beside him. He was looking down the slope to their right.

"I thought you wanted to see it", he said. "This is the West."

Though he'd already seen it when they crossed the mountains, Legolas was taken aback once again. The light was spreading out of the mountain's shadow, and the mists were gone around the foot-hills and from the windy grasslands at their feet. Everything was white, the hills and the plains, the woods and the oak groves, and the broad, winding ribbon of ice that was the river Bruinen. The path led down towards it, past a row of fir and birches, until it joined what looked like a broader road; another ribbon, edged with large stones.

"I wish you could see it in summer", Elladan said, "when all is green and the air is clear. Netherford is down there in the river valley, but we can't see it from here. You can see Arret, though, across the river."

At that distance, and under the snow, all Legolas could see were dots of weathered wood against the white. It did not look like a place where people could live, but then, this was the West.

Tilwine joined them where they stood. "When we came here in the night, Scead and I - well, that was further south, where we were attacked - all of the lowlands were alight - little groups of lights, a village here and maybe a campfire there. I thought to myself, then, the world's not very big after all. It looked just like home."

"Do you know what I thought about?" Scead asked.

"What did you think about?"

"That I was dying because you'd mixed up the leaves. Come on, we want to get to Netherford before it's dark."

They set off at a brisk pace down the wind-blown slope, along a path that was sometimes laid bare and sometimes covered in knee-high droves of snow, all depending on wind and shelter. The twins rode first, quiet as usual, and Legolas rode beside Scead, who seemed immensely happy to have finally left the House of Elrond. Tilwine and Echail brought up the rear, riding as close as their horses would allow and talking all the time.

"Why does Tilwine like Echail so much?" he asked Scead.

Scead smiled. "Who can tell? Sometimes..."

"No, I mean - I know a lot of people like Echail, but he's always mean to me. The twins don't seem to like him either. I don't understand why he's like that. And I don't understand why Tilwine doesn't care that he's like that."

"I see what you mean", Scead said after a moment. "But you must understand that Tilwine has had a hard time. He's been shunned by everyone he knows - expect me, and Tilwine has never been a person to stick to just one friend. He needs a bunch of friends, a lot of people to respect him and admire him. He's starving for that kind of attention, and Echail is very much the same - a warrior, a jester, and they've both done things they regret. Maybe Tilwine ought to be more picky, but he can't, not now. And who knows, maybe he'll bring out the good sides in Echail more than the bad?"

Legolas looked over his shoulder. When Echail smiled without scorn he looked much kinder, but he was always so tense, always anxious to laugh when Tilwine did, to be seen and heard and respected. Maybe Echail was like Tilwine in some ways, but he reminded Legolas of Tinuhen as well - not because they were alike, but because Tinuhen's desperate desire to be noble, and Echail's need for admiration, somehow seemed to stem from the same thing. They both craved to be seen as good and worthy, and if they stepped on some people in their way it didn't matter to them. If only they could have stepped on someone else than Legolas.

"What has Echail done that he regrets?" he asked.

"Nothing I can tell you", Scead said.

"Oh. It has something to do with his injury, then? The one Glorfindel wouldn't tell me about either."

Scead smiled. "Clever thinking, little one. But I still won't tell you."

Legolas shrugged. He didn't care what Echail had done, or whatever good sides Tilwine could bring out in him, or indeed if Echail would be more friendly if Legolas was friendly to him, like Glorfindel had suggested. Echail didn't like him, and Legolas didn't like Echail even at his best, so that was that.

Moreover, it had been ever so much easier to sneak on lord Elrond without Echail always on the lookout with his eagle eyes. After he heard about lord Elrond's plans Legolas had thought one out of his own: learn as much more as possible about it, so that when he left Rivendell and found Quick-wing - or another bird willing to take a message, if he had flown back to the wood-elves - Tinuhen would know everything. He figured Tinuhen would want to know more, so that he could be certain it was safe for him at the secret council, and so that he would know what to say to get in. But it had been impossible to get anywhere near lord Elrond, so Legolas still knew nothing more than that lord Elrond didn't want Greenwood on his council.

The morning grew as they rode. The sky turned pink and golden, though still dark in the far west, and the snow shone so brightly they had to cover the horse's eyes. The men had their hoods up over their faces, for the wind was bitterly cold and stung everyone's skin. They rode through the row of trees and into a valley, and the view disappeared behind the ridge. The path turned to the north.

"How far is it to the river?" Legolas asked.

"An hour's ride from here", said Elladan. "We can see it soon, though."

The valley became narrow and steep-sided, and they rode in between slender spruces and wind-twisted firs, where birds fluttered between snow-heavy branches. When Legolas called, one brave robin came down to sit on his hand.

"Ye gods", said Scead. "And here I thought you elves could not surprise me anymore."

Elrohir looked over his shoulder and flashed a rare smile at that.

"Do you want to hold it?" Legolas asked. He had stuffed his belt pouch full of bread crumbs and nuts, and the robin was eating them happily off his hand.

"Won't it be afraid?"

"Would you sit on his hand too?" Legolas asked the robin. "I'll give you more food if you do."

The robin tilted its head to the side and looked thoughtfully (as thoughtfully as little birds can look) at Scead. Then it flew over to sit on his hand. Scead stared at it, hardly daring to move. Then he let go of his reins, expertly steering the horse with his knees, so he could stroke the robin over its head. The bird let him do that a little while, then flew back to Legolas and demanded its payment.

"Amazing", Tilwine said when the robin flew back into the trees. "You actually talked to it, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Unbelievable."

"Hardly", Echail said. "And there are far more important thing than speaking to birds."

"Like fetching lord Elrond wine?" Tilwine asked teasingly.

"Well, if you ask me", said Echail, "I'd say that _is_ more important than speaking to birds."

"Nobody asked you", said Elladan (which was not true, of course, since Tilwine just did). "So keep your mouth shut."

Echail did so for a while, and Legolas wondered why he - who was a warrior after all, and lord Elrond's valet - was so scared of the twins. But when Echail sunk into a brooding silence, the twins became instead more talkative, and Elladan began to talk about the western lands, the villages and the rivers, and his and Elrohir's many adventures along the Great West Road. Even Elrohir inserted a comment here and there, and they were all startled to silence when he told a joke, but it made him nervous that they hadn't understood so he was quiet after that. Then they finally rode down a bank and out of the trees, and the river Bruinen lay before them.

"Oh!" said Tilwine. "Rest!"

Elladan smiled. "We shall cross first, and then ride a little ways downstream, where it is more open. But soon we will rest."

They crossed in single file, leading their horses, though the river had been frozen since many weeks. While he stood on the other bank and waited for the last ones to cross, Legolas caught sight of a red bullfinch's chest in the branches of a beech nearby and called for it to come down. He asked it if it had seen a sparrow hawk somewhere nearby. The bullfinch answered that it had.

"Could you find him for me? I need to speak to him. Tell him I'll be further south by the river."

The bullfinch looked upset and said that no finches with any self-respect would talk to a sparrow-hawk, because they were wicked and mean and ate finches.

"He won't eat you, I promise", Legolas said. "Say little elf sent you. Please, it's very important!" He stuck one hand into his belt-pouch and brought out a handful bread crumbs. "You'll get all of these if you do it for me."

The bullfinch eyed the bread crumbs hungrily and gave in. When he turned back to the others, Legolas found Echail and the men watch him curiously, but they wouldn't understand the speech of birds unless they had learnt it, and he doubted that they had.

When everyone had crossed they rode up the bank and followed the road for a while. They weren't they only ones who had done so; there were dozens of tracks from horse hooves, wagon wheels and even a sleigh, some new and some half snowed over. All were heading south towards Netherford. But they did not see anyone, and soon they left the road and headed back to the river, where there was an opening in the trees below a small waterfall.

Tilwine and Scead grumbled and swore as they trudged through the snow far behind the elves, and Echail laughed at them, quicker for once.

There was less snow by the river, and there the men spread out deer-skins to sit on while Elrohir got a fire started and Elladan and Legolas packed up their breakfast. They were heating milk for the hot chocolate when a sharp cry overhead made them all look up.

"Ye gods!" said Scead with a laugh. "Just a hawk, but it scared me."

"Don't say just a hawk", said Echail. "I'm sure it has come to share important news with our Greenwood friend."

"I am sure it's hungry", said Legolas, "and I'm going to feed it. But if you have a message for it, Echail, I'll gladly take it to him."

Quick-wing did not come down until Legolas was well out of sight from the others. He was tired and anxious and couldn't sit still.

"Little elf late", he said. "Was worried - was going to fly back to elves if not come today, yes, but waited to make sure. Too late for message now. Not important."

Legolas had expected as much. Two weeks had passed since he last met Quick-wing, and whatever Tinuhen had wanted to say lord Elrond then - probably about supplies and the condition of the company - was hardly relevant now.

"Well", he said, "I have something important to tell Tinuhen, and it's a good thing I was late, because I only learnt it two days ago. How were the others when you left them?"

"Hungry. Tired. Tried to talk to other elves, under golden trees. Don't know if succeeded. " Quick-wing looked around, and his yellow eyes narrowed. "Mountains are restless. Goblins has been moving, yes, sneaky goblins hiding where elves can't find them. Other things moving, too. Foul birds. Snakes, spiders. They whisper of Old One. Little elf heard?"

Legolas frowned. "Old One?"

"Old One, yes. All wicked things knows. Don't know who is, but dangerous, very dangerous. Maybe traitor, maybe more powerful than traitor. Is near you, little elf. Must be careful."

"I'm trying", Legolas said, "but I don't know how to. I mean - I wish I could tell someone..."

"Little elf not tell anyone", Quick-wing said sharply. "Is very important, little elf listen!"

"I do! I am listening." Legolas bit his lip and looked anxiously at Quick-wing. "I'm being careful, but I don't know if it's enough."

"Little elf very small, doesn't know much."

"You don't need to remind me of that."

"But clever", Quick-wing said encouragingly. "Not dead yet, so still has chance, yes?

Legolas scowled and kicked at the snow. Then, because he wanted to prove for Quick-wing as much as for himself that he wasn't entirely useless, he told Quick-wing about the conversation he had heard between Glorfindel and lord Elrond.

"You must tell Tinuhen everything", he said. "He will know what to do. Don't tell him how I heard it though, he's going to be mad if he learns I was stealing wine. And eavesdropping. Just let him know what lord Elrond's planning."

"Will do", said Quick-wing and fluffed his wings importantly. "More?"

"No, that's all I know. Tell him to be careful."

"Little elf be careful, too."

"Yes, and you too, Quick-wing. Stay away from that bird."

Legolas felt a sting of worry as he watched Quick-wing fly away. There was only three days until Midwinter now. Unless Tinuhen was soon on his way through the Stair, there was no way he would be in time.

* * *

The sun had risen to its highest point when they set off again, and the horses were eager to chase the cold out of their legs. Soon the woods opened to snowy field land. From the top of a tall hill they could see the village of Arret, now a cluster of small grey houses, surrounded by fields and pastures only visible because of the fence-poles sticking up through the snow. Thin coils of smoke rose towards the pale blue sky.

"Is there a king here?" Legolas asked.

"No", said Elladan, "and there has not been anything like a king for many years. This is lawless land, all the way down to Bree-land, down along the Great West Road. But that is far away."

A road left the main one and trailed down the hill towards Arret, but they passed it by, rode across the hill and down into the valley, back between tall trees. Not much later they could feel the smell of cooking fires on the wind, and hear the rise and fall of voices of from many men and women. The first houses became visible between the firs - grey and weather-worn, with thatched roofs and low doors, they stood sunken deep into the river bank as if they had once been twice as tall. Then, out of the river - right on the ice - they saw the Midwinter market. Dozens of stalls and tents had been set up in complete disarray, as tightly together as the ice allowed, and hung with colourful ribbons that would've caught one's attention if there hadn't been so many of them. People milled around them, sharing news, arguing about prices, weighing silver coins on little scales and examining the quality of deer skins. The voices of the sellers boasting about their wares blended with each other so that not a single word could be distinguished. In the middle of the river there was a square of sorts, and there was a wooden platform built up with a large log-fire on top of it. But before Legolas could ride into the village, Elladan stopped him.

"We cannot ride down there without some preparation", he said. "It is better for everyone if they think we are Men, so that is what we will be."

He adjusted Legolas' fur hat so it covered his ears properly, and made sure his hair was hidden under it. Then he pulled two long black cloaks from his pack, handed one to Elrohir and swept the other around himself. The cloaks looked plain and worn enough and with the hoods pulled over their heads, their postures not as straight as before and with all their gear simple and used, no one would have suspected the twins were elves.

"Legolas is too strange a name for these folks", Elladan said. "From here on you will be Las if anyone asks. That is simple enough."

"What about you?"

Elladan gave him a dark look under the hood, then grinned. "I doubt anyone will ask."

"Are we ready?" Elrohir asked, looking at the others, then frowned. "Echail, don't you have anything else?"

"Don't", Echail mumbled, obviously embarrassed, and looked down on his cloak. It was a bright blue with silver embroideries along the hem, and he had probably thought it was plain enough, but this wasn't a market for lords and ladies.

Elladan said: "I told you to bring something simple. Something that wouldn't draw attention. You _have_ been outside Rivendell before, have you not?"

"You know I have."

Elrohir's eyes darkened to jet black. "I know you have once, and you came back bloody quick. Why don't you - "

"Here, now!" Tilwine said and urged his horse closer to Echail's, effectively putting himself between him and Elrohir. "There's no use in arguing about something we can't change now, especially not if we don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Here, Echail. This should suffice." He helped Echail take off his cloak, unclasped the twin brooches of his own, and hung it over Echail's shoulders. Echail protested.

"You'll be cold!"

"Nah", Tilwine said and locked the brooches together around Echail's neck. "I'll be fine. There, now you look like a true prince of Rohan!"

Echail gave him a smile that could have melted the ice of Helcaraxë and pulled the hood over his head. Elrohir glared but didn't say anything. There was a moment's hesitation while no one seemed certain if there was going to be more arguing, and no one dared to break the silence. Then, as if on cue, they all turned their horses and rode down the river bank.

Two villagers with hunting spears watched their arrival, but Tilwine hailed them cheerfully, as far from mysterious as anyone could get, and they softened immediately.

"Welcome to Netherford!" they said. "We have the best inn and the biggest market between Tharbad and Bree! From Rohan, are you?"

"Aye!" said Tilwine. "And we are heading back there as soon as we have replenished our supples. These lands are wretched cold!"

"Especially for one without a cloak", the men said, smiling. "You're in for quite a journey then, and in the middle of winter."

"Quite. We were delayed - my friend Scead here was injured, and we had to stay at the Forsaken Inn for nearly three weeks before we could go on. Gave us the opportunity to see your market, though. Say, is there anywhere we can stable our horses?"

The inn's stable was full, but the men beckoned at a couple of children to come take care of the horses and make sure they were fed and watered. Then Tilwine launched into a long and exciting tale about their adventurous journey as easily as nothing, and now and then Scead piped in to add some detail. The others nodded their confirmation and tried to look like everything was true.

"Come", Elladan said after a while. "Tilwine will go on for ages. Let us look at the market."

The market! Legolas had never seen anything like it. There were dark-haired, wild-looking folk from the south, and easterners in brightly coloured clothes selling equally colourful fabrics and painted earthen ware, a travelling bard and a couple of grim-looking mercenaries, dwarves with their beards full of gold and silver and their wagons full of smith-work. People were shouting and arguing and shoving others out of the way, and as Legolas and the twins walked over the ice they were pushed and called at and urged to come look at everything from tin pitchers to live hens. Legolas soon discovered the safest place was between the twins, since they just needed to glare for people to leave them alone. They walked past stalls selling kitchen utensils and necklaces with glass pearls, buttons made of horn or bone, ring clasps and painted bronze brooches, cauldrons, harnesses, pipe weed or salt or spices. They walked past the great fire, where people sat on benches and warmed their feet and a woman sold hot mulled wine with raisins and almonds, and pancakes with jam and cream. They looked inside a tent full of swords and daggers, and Legolas was shouted at by the shop keeper for almost touching a shield leaning to a sword rack, so the twins quickly pulled him out of there.

"This is why we must pretend to be men", Elladan said. "The people here are suspicious enough of their own kind. Elves they would not trust one bit."

"And elves don't trust men", Legolas said. "At least in Greenwood we don't. Isn't that sad?"

"It is", Elladan agreed. "And it has not always been so, but these are dark times."

The twins became increasingly talkative as they went, and they greeted some of the sellers like friends, though the sellers themselves seemed to be a bit afraid of them. It seemed they were looking for someone. They asked more than once for a Man called Skulker, and many had seen him, but no one really wanted to talk about him.

"Who is he?" Legolas asked.

"You'll see", Elladan said. "Skulker is not his real name. People call him that because he does not use his real name very often, and he is very secretive. Rarely seen. You have met him, though."

"I have?"

"More than once. And there he is! Hey, Skulker!"

A man over by the fire turned, first with a frown, then with a smile. "Bless my beard, as the dwarves say!"

It was Arahad. He was even dirtier than when Legolas had first seen him, as if he had not bathed once since he left Rivendell. And he seemed didn't seem to mind that Elladan called him Skulker, maybe because Elladan was clearly in a better mood that he had been for ages.

"I heard about the goblin attack", he said, as the twins and Legolas sat down by the fire with him. The man was eating pancakes and the strawberry jam dripped from his fingers. "I take it you are better, Elladan?"

"Of course. I am not a Man; I heal quickly."

"Why do they call you Skulker?" Legolas asked.

"Because I have not told them my real name, and they thought Skulker was fitting." Arahad grinned. "In their eyes that is what rangers do, skulking about in the shadows around their homes. Here, I did not expect to see you at the market, little one!"

"Are there other rangers here?"

"Some. Others will be coming over the days. Your friends Findel and Hawn were looking at some lass at the inn last I saw them. Didn't want to sit with them. I needed fresh air."

"The rangers will ride with us home", Elladan said. "And stay over Midwinter."

Arahad nodded and licked jam from his fingers. "It is getting cold out here. And dangerous."He gave the mountains a dark look. "You already know, of course."

"There is Echail", said Elladan, looking up. "I suppose we better get out errand over and done with. We're taking him to see Brittleleaf. Father's all out of bloodroot, and he does not even know where the last of it got to." He rose, but when Legolas moved to do the same, Elladan put a hand on his shoulder. "Would you stay here by the fire? Only a little while."

"Why can't I come?"

"Because there are certain things that can only be acquired if you follow the procedure", said Elrohir, "and bringing elflings along is not following the procedure."

The twins dragged a reluctant Echail along in between the stalls again, and though Legolas tried to follow them just to see where they went, he soon lost them in the ground. When he returned to the fire Arahad had finished his last pancake and was looking regretfully at his empty hands. Legolas sat down beside him.

"Arahad?"

"Mhm?"

"Have you heard... do you know about someone called Old One?"

Arahad shot him a surprised glance. "The Old One? Where did you learn that name?"

"So you've heard it then?"

"I've heard it", Arahad said slowly, wiping strawberry jam from his beard with the back of his hand. "It's been circulating a bit this winter. People's been whispering about an old man with a hood and a staff that's supposed to be wandering the mountains, but no one has seen him - they just know someone who has. They call him the Old One since no one knows his name."

"Is he evil?"

"People seem to assume so. If he's real, he is indeed secretive, because none of us rangers has found a single track of him - but most likely, he is nothing but a ghost story."

Legolas stretched out his legs towards the fire, because his toes were getting cold, and watched a group of men and women with skin the colour of dry soil, who stood in a shivering circle and laughed at a joke someone had just told. They looked very much out of place in all the snow and the grey, with their red and yellow and purple wool robes billowing around them and their language sounding like rattling stones and whispering water. He wondered if they ever sung songs of their home like the Greenwood elves did to make it feel closer, and he wondered exactly how far away they lived, and if it was further away that Gondor. Erestor would probably know.

Very slowly a feeling crept over Legolas that he was being watched.

He turned around, but there was too much people to tell if anyone had been looking at him. A group of dwarves stood nearby talking about the price of good steel, but none of them paid him any attention. Maybe it was just the amount of people, Legolas thought, or maybe being so close to the cursed dwarves. Father had often said he could feel their presence on miles away, and not only because of their smell.

Legolas turned back to the fire, suddenly aware of how many people there were around him, how close they stood and how strange their voices were. Some of them were old; some of them had hoods... And he thought, what if there was no traitor in Rivendell - after all, would not lord Elrond recognise one when he saw him? - but outside it. What if they had just waited for a chance to strike. What if Legolas had walked right into...

"Watch it!" Arahad yelled and moved, quick as lightning, in between Legolas and another man behind him. It went too fast for Legolas to understand, but when he turned, Arahad held a small dagger in hand and the other man man was pushing his way through the crowd away from them.

"Stop him!" Arahad shouted, but no one wanted to have anything to do with ranger affairs, and the crowd simply parted to let the man through.

"Thieves", Arahad said. "They're everywhere. He would've slit your bag and taken any valuables you had as it fell out."

Legolas stared at the spot where the man had disappeared, still trying to figure out what had happened. "What if he had hurt me?"

Arahad shook his head. "That would have drawn attention. This is just a small market, he wouldn't have got away with assault. What he tried to do was to take your stuff without your noticing. He didn't know you are an elf though, nor did he know I am a ranger."

Slowly it dawned on Legolas that he could have been killed - that whatever Arahad said he had been closer to death than he had ever imagined he would be, because Arahad did not know everything. Had Arahad been a second too late, Legolas might have been dead _now_.

He hugged himself tightly. "What if... what if..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Speak up", Arahad said. "You look frightened, little one."

"I'm not supposed to say anything", Legolas mumbled, but he didn't know what else to do. The fear made his chest tighten until it became hard to breath. He wished the twins would come back. "What if I've a reason to believe he truly wanted to hurt me? If I know something you don't. Something I can't tell you."

Arahad became silent. When he spoke again he looked very grave, and Legolas realised, not without surprise, that the man took him seriously. "Does anyone else here know? The twins?"

"No. They don't."

"And you cannot tell them either?"

"I... I don't think so."

Arahad ran his thumb along the edge of the dagger. "Then you stay close to me until we leave. Do not go off by yourself. I will keep watch over you. And... you promise that if there is anyone you trust, be it the twins or lord Elrond or anyone else, you let them know what it is you fear. They can protect you better than I ever can. Can you promise me that?"

Legolas bit his lip. "I... I guess I can." If there was anyone he trusted, he would tell them. Like Gandalf or Radagast, when they arrived. As of yet he did not trust lord Elrond, and as long as he didn't trust him, he dared not tell the twins either.

But Arahad was a ranger, and their Chieftain no less. Surely he would know to keep close watch for other attacks. And maybe the traitor - if it was him - would stay away now that he knew Legolas wasn't alone.

"Can I look at that dagger?"

"Certainly."

It was a plain steel dagger - at least by elven standards, with a fairly straight blade and a handle bound with coarse leather. Legolas turned it over in his hands. It had seen some use but was very sharp. Perhaps he had expected some evil mark to be inscribed on it, but there was none.

He did not say anything to Elladan and Elrohir when they came back. Echail was not with them. They took another walk around the stalls and at first, Legolas looked for traitors everywhere around and made sure Arahad did the same - but he soon forgot about it, because there was so much to look at and hear and smell. Had it not been for Arahad, a devoted assassin could probably have killed Legolas a dozen times while he was busy admiring a beautifully carved longbow - but no one so much as tried, and soon the briefness of the assault and the distracting chatter of the twins made it all seem like a dream. The sense of overhanging danger had subsided altogether when they watched the travelling bard perform a song that made Arahad roar with laughter and Elladan look with displease at Legolas as if contemplating covering his ears.

Tilwine, Scead and Echail found them there. They were done with their errands, and the men were hungry again.

"The inn is crowded", Arahad said. "You won't get anything to eat there within an hour, and we've already been here long. I say let's get everyone together and have a meal by the fire."

"But you've already eaten", Echail said.

"Two pancakes. I could eat eleven more."

"Eleven!"

"Are you surprised?" Tilwine said. "I could easily eat fifteen!"

They took a roundabout back to the fire, looking for rangers as they went, and found Findel and Hawn arguing with a seller about the price of arrow-tips. They were over a dozen when they sat down by the fire, and the woman selling pancakes was a little overwhelmed with the large order, because how many pancakes one could eat had become a competition between the men - the elves, even Echail, had long since accepted their inferiority.

So it was that nine mysterious rangers, the fearsome twins, two horse-thieves from Rohan and an elfing from Greenwood came to sit by the fire eating pancakes with strawberry jam and cream, as if that would not ruin their reputation at all.

* * *

It was when they made ready to go home again that the strangest thing that day happened.

Legolas sat on a fence by the horses and waited for the men to saddle up, and he was fiddling with the dagger again, when Echail stopped in front of him with a frown on his face.

"Where did you find that?"

"I didn't find it, I - "

"Give it to me", Echail said and reached for it, and when Legolas did not give it to him at once, he rolled his eyes and explained: "It's mine. I lost it at the market. It fell out of the sheath when I sat down or something. Not that it is any special, but it's not yours and you're going to give it back to me."

Very slowly, Legolas turned the dagger in his hand and gave it to Echail hilt first.

"Lucky I found it then", he said quietly. "Before it got into the wrong person's hands."

Legolas looked after Echail when he walked back to his horse, sat up an carefully arranged Tilwine's cloak over his horse's back. He looked so pleased with himself. It was too much of a coincidence, Legolas thought, that Echail had dropped that dagger only for the attacker to find it and use it. Knives didn't fall out of sheaths like that. And Echail had not been with the twins when they returned from their errand. There would have been time to leave them, sneak up to the fire, then disappear in the crowd and find Tilwine and Scead before anyone missed him.

But it could not possibly have been Echail. He was lord Elrond's valet; the elf-lord must trust him as much as he trusted Glorfindel or Erestor. No, it could not be Echail - could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on birds, because it will be relevant for the next chapter. In The Hobbit it says that 'the men of Dale had the trick of understanding bird speech' and that Bard, when a thrush speaks to him in the battle against Smaug, is surprised he can understand it since he's a descendant of Dale. So the birds don't speak elvish, and not everyone understand them - though they don't need to learn the language, it's probably more of an instinctive understanding. The wood-elves are said to be friends of the birds, but as far as I know the same isn't said about the noldor. This is why Legolas understands them but not Scead, Tilwine or the other elves. Quick-wing speaks the way he does because I figure bird speech would be a lot simpler than elven speech - they're simply not intelligent enough to be as well-spoken.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	18. The Old One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing in advance for any spelling errors or inconsistencies in this chapter. I just moved since I'm starting university, and I don't have internet in my apartmet, so I'm using the library wifi which is really slow. I'm hoping to get internet access later this week.

It was afternoon and the market was closing when they left Netherford. The twins rode first up the river bank and onto the road, and the rangers followed in an disorderly line, with Echail and Tilwine somewhere in the middle - Tilwine was quickly befriending everyone, of course - and Scead riding beside Arahad, who rode with Legolas. Arahad was still keeping watch, and Legolas was glad that Echail was in front of him. He didn't want the older elf behind his back.

Of course, he wasn't sure Echail could be the traitor. Lord Elrond was much wiser than Legolas was, and he should have recognized a murderer when he saw one. But Echail was an elf, and maybe that made if different. Maybe lord Elrond had a reason to trust Echail. Maybe Echail had some kind of hold on him - like a debt that needed to be repaid - because lord Elrond had to have noticed that his valet wasn't the nicest of people, even though he took his job very seriously. Father would never have kept someone who was so mean, Legolas thought, unless there was something more to it.

But Echail would hardly dare to do anything with all the rangers and the twins around. So for as long as he never found Legolas alone again, it should be alright.

They rode swiftly without resting, but the sky flamed red when they drew near the ford. Again they crossed in single file, and as they were over twenty in the company it took a while. When half of them stood in the long tree-shadows on the opposite bank, a bird suddenly swooped down so low that those on the ice had to duck to escape his talons.

It was Quick-wing.

"Hey!" Legolas shouted. "What are you doing?"

Quick-wing wheeled around.

"Has flown", he said, out of breath, "has flown over mountains, and there were goblins, nasty, wicked goblins, yes! Elves must know!"

"Goblins? Where?"

"In cave close to valley, yes! Little elf must warn!"

"What is he saying?" Elladan asked as he drew up his horse beside Legolas.

"Goblins", Legolas said, frowning. "He's seen goblins near Rivendell. It's Quick-wing - he's Radagast's bird, and I think he's clever enough to know when there is danger and when there is not. How many goblins are there, Quick-wing?"

"Many!"

"Well, I guess he cannot count."

Elrohir made his way to them, grim in the deepening dusk. "There are a numer of caves near the valley. Most of them are small."

"But not all", said Elladan. "I do not like the sound of this. Glorfindel thought the goblins had long since left these parts. I wonder why they have come back."

"Does it matter?" Elrohir asked. "We will ride out and drive them away."

Elladan gritted his teeth. "It will be dark by the time the warriors are ready. We will be many and we must have torches - the goblins will know we are coming before we even know where they are, and what about their numbers? They will have the upper hand in every possible way."

"The quicker we get back, the better", Echail said. He had tugged Tilwine's cloak very close and his eyes were wide. Legolas had thought the chance of a battle would make him excited, but it seemed rather to have made him scared. "Glorfindel will know what to do."

Elrohir turned to him and looked ready to say something very mean, but Arahad spoke before him. "We must indeed warn Glorfindel, but he can do little more than us with the information we have. We cannot muster the warriors and ride into the mountains without knowing where we're going, or how many goblins we are up against. What we need..."

"...Is more information", Elladan said, nodding. "Yes, I believe you are right." He turned back to Legolas. "Ask the bird if he can take us to where the goblins are."

Wide-eyed, Legolas did. Quick-wing answered solemnly that he could, but they must be very careful.

When the others heard this they became quiet, turning to Elladan as if all had silently decided to let him decide. Elladan thought for a long while. Finally he said: "There isn't much time, and here's what we will do. Elrohir, I and a few more will follow Quick-wing, learn the goblins' location, if possible their numbers, and the best way to strike at them. We must go quickly and without anymore people than we need; we won't let outselves be seen. The rest of you will ride back to Rivendell as fast as you can and prepare the warriors. I suggest you send a swift rider ahead - Findel will do. You will not ride out until we have returned."

"If I may..." Tilwine said.

Elladan shook his head. "You are not a master of stealth, my friend. Arahad will go with us."

"Yes", Arahad said, "three will be more than enough."

"Four", said Elrohir.

"Four?"

Elrohir looked at his twin. "That is what you are planning, is it not? We need someone who understands the bird."

"It is my plan", said Elladan slowly, "though I do not like it."

"Nor do I, but what choice do we have? We will stay out of battle - and if anyone can sneak onto goblins unseen, it is him."

"Now wait a minute", Arahad said. "You don't mean - Elladan, you cannot..."

"Who are you talking about?" Hawn asked. The others seemed as confused as him. Legolas did not understand either - until Elladan looked down to meet his eyes.

They needed someone who understood Quick-wing.

The twins and Arahad went on arguing over his head, and Legolas did not know what to do. If something happend that only Quick-wing could see, and he could not tell Arahad and the twins, because there was no one there to answer - then they would be in great danger. But it was getting dark and cold, and looking for goblins in the mountains was so far beyond anything Legolas could have imagined, he could have thought it was a joke had it not been for the stern faces of the others. To follow the twins, to go into the mountains - he hardly understood what it would even mean.

The sun sunk behind the mountains, and the flaming red light went out. Legolas thought about Tuiw, about the arrows in his back, his snowy white hair spread out over the black moss - and about Laeros, who had been sent south with five other scouts, and returned alone and half-mad. Legolas did not want to end up like that; but what if the twins or Arahad did, just because he was afraid?

In the end his heart made the decision without counselling his head. Swallowing back sour gall, Legolas took a step forward and said: "You don't have to argue about it. I'll go with you."

They paused to look at him.

"I want to help", Legolas said. That, at least, was true. "You need me. You'll be in danger if I don't go with you."

"And you will be in danger if you do", said Arahad. "I cannot protect you from everything, not out there."

"I know", Legolas said. "I'm not expecting you to."

There was a long silence, broken only by the call of a tawny owl that made Tilwine jerk and a hare dash for cover in between the trees. Arahad looked at the twins, but no help came from them. Finally he sighed.

"Very well. Let us go. And may we all live to be murdered by Glorfindel when he learns we took an elfling along to look for goblins. You", he said to Legolas, "you stay close to me, and keep quiet, and do anything we tell you to do. Don't you stray as much as an inch from the rest of us - unless we tell you to run. Understand?"

They crossed the ford, left their horses to go home with the others, and followed Quick-wing away from the road and into the darkness between the trees. They had to walk slowly, for Arahad sank down halfway to his knees in the snow and the terrain was difficult even for elves. Still it was not long before they could not hear the others as they moved down the road, and soon they could not even see their torches if they looked back. The darkness grew deeper as they walked. The twins had their bows strung and kept watch so that Arahad could concentrate on walking through the snow. Legolas obediently went beside him, quiet as a mouse. When the moon rose over the mountains and the trees grew scarcer, they began to keep to the shadows as much as they could.

Quick-wing wanted them to go straight north-east, but Elrohir said there was a ravine in the way and they would have to go around it, so they went in a wide circle until the ravine opened before them in the undergrowth. At this place it was only a step across, but widened as it wound towards the mountains. It would have been easy to miss.

"Careful now", Elladan said, and took Legolas hand to help him over. "There may be loose stones on the edges."

"Do you know these lands?"

"Most of them. They are dangerous, though, even for us."

"This way now", said Elrohir, and they followed the ravine up and east, facing the mountains that stood black and massive against the darkening sky.

The trees became shrubbery and spiky grass, and the wind had blown the snown into dunes that left most of the ground bare. Still their progress was slow. They were unhidden now, and crept from shelter to shelter while Quick-wing kept a lookout from above. But they saw nothing but boulders and the black shapes of ravines, and heard nothing but the whirr of bats in the air and the howl of wind in the highlands. The cliffs rose steeply around them until they found themselves staring into another ravine.

Legolas threw a look over his shoulder. Below them among the foothills, mist filled the valleys, and the lowlands of the West were dark. Only the mountain peaks high above his head had some light left around them. It was very cold, and the wind was growing stronger.

"In here?" Elladan asked, gazing into the ravine under the mountains' shadow.

Legolas looked at Quick-wing. "In here."

The twins nocked arrows to their bows, and Arahad drew his sword. A path of trampled snow led into the ravine, and it was not hard to tell it was made by goblin feet. The darkening sky became a narrow strip of black above their heads when they went inside.

Quick-wing flew ahead. The elves and the man walked slowly and silently on, jumping at every sound, every flurry of snow the wind threw from the heights above them. When Quick-wing swept from the sky they all stopped dead in their tracks, but the sparrowhawk had only come to tell them it was not far, and they could see the cavern before the goblins could see them. They went on. The snow dampened their footfalls. They passed a narrow track that led almost straight up along the mountainsside; then the ravine widened, and they stood at the edge of an open area facing a gaping black hole. There they stopped.

"It is guarded", Elrohir whispered.

They all strained their eyes to see. Just inside the entrance something metallic shone in the evening light, and there was a shape slightly darker than the surroundings, like someone leaning to the stone wall. Legolas froze where he stood and could not move again. Before now it had all felt unreal, and he could almost have convinced himself they would never find the goblins and turn back home before something happened - but now they had found them, and there was no turning back.

Elladan put a hand on his arm and led him away. They retreated a few steps to be sure they were out of earshot.

"Well, we've found them", Elladan said. "But we cannot take them unawares as long as they have watches out - there is only one entrance, and only one way to it. And we do not know how many they are."

"No less than twenty, that is for sure", Arahad said, looking at the tracks leading up to the entrance.

"And no more than three hundred, or they would not get room in that cave", said Elladan grimly. "We do not know for how long they have been gathering - it snowed last night and older footprints would be covered."

"Then what do we do? There is no way to know, and we cannot storm the cave without knowing how many they are in there."

Quick-wing swept silently out of the air and landed beside Legolas.

"There is another way", Legolas translated his urgent whispers. "Another way in that the goblins do not know about."

There was a long silence. No one seemed to have thought about _entering_ the cave.

When Arahad spoke, he sounded doubtful. "We can always check it out. It might prove useful for an attack."

They followed Quick-wing back down the ravine, and up the steep path to the side that they had passed earlier. It was not an easy way, and when they came to the top, finding themselves on a long slope reaching upwards for the mountains, they had to make their way slowly over a litter of rocks half-hidden under snow. The mountains towered above them and made the night-sky pitch-black.

The moonlight fell on a crack in the mountainsside, a gaping mouth that ate all light. They stopped.

"This is it", Legolas said. "Quick-wing says only the bats use it."

"Undoubtedly he is right", said Arahad. "It would be too narrow for any but the smallest of goblins. We cannot go in there."

So it was, but they still walked closer to look at it. Not that there was much to be seen. A few paces from the opening the rough stone-floor and the jarred walls vanished into the dark, and then it was all black. But when they stood in silence and listened, they could heard the faint sounds of voices and laughter, and there was a disctinct tang of fire-smoke in the air.

"This is it, then", said Arahad after a while. "We know they are there, but we cannot go insde. We should go back. Maybe Glorfindel can think of something."

"Glorfindel is not a wizard", Elladan said. "What do you expect him to do? We cannot take them by surprise, and we cannot know their numbers. Either we strike head on, with full force, and hope they do not outnumber us - or we do not."

"Then we must let them be. Watch their movements but leave them alone as long as - "

"Do not be ridiculous", Elrohir growled. "By dawn they may be gone. Should we let them live only because they have the advantage? Should we spare their miserable lives..."

"Elrohir, this is not about revenge - "

"Is it not?" Elladan snapped, and suddenly they were all back to how they'd begun - the twins dark-eyed and sullen, Arahad grim and hard-hearted - and Legolas saw what was happening. This was about the lady Celebrían. To the twins she was held captive in that cave, and they could still save her - but they must kill them all, let no one escape, or she'd die, and they'd be left alone again. Be it goblins or orcs or wargs; it was always revenge to them.

Legolas stared into the cave. It seemed like it wanted to eat him up, to reach out and get him. If he went in there, he would never get out again. But if he didn't, the twins would go in alone, and they'd go through the front door, for they could take no other way. And they'd be killed.

"Elladan", Legolas said. "There is a way to find out how many they are."

They stopped arguing. Elladan frowned. "Is there?"

"Yes", Legolas said, and hesitated. "The cave - it's not _that_ small. I could go in."

"Don't be silly", Arahad said.

Legolas shook his head. "I'm not. I could do it. And I have to. Something... something bad is going to happen if we let them be, I'm sure of it. I won't be seen."

"If you think we're sending you down there alone..."

"I'm a wood-elf", Legolas said, and somehow his confidence grew with every word that brought him closer to the cave - as if he'd known all the time it would come to this, and now he was eager to get it over it. "A wood-elf of the Mountain. If I don't want to be seen, no one will see me. I swear."

"Legolas..."

"The child is right", Elrohir said. "He could go inside, get a grip of how many goblins there are, then get out again as soon as possible, and nothing would happen."

"I will not have it", Arahad said.

"Nor will I!" said Elladan. "There are limits, Elrohir. We can risk our own lives as much as we want, but we will not risk someone else's."

"But you do risk someone else's life!" Legolas cried. He looked at Arahad and willed him to understand. "The warriors, or if you don't send any the people of Netherford - or my brother, if he comes this way soon! Don't you see? It is the only way!"

Arahad closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was very tired. "You... you know how to move quietly in caves, don't you, Legolas?"

"I do."

"You know the danger of echo, and loose stones."

"Yes."

"This is madness", said Elladan.

"Of course it is", said Elrohir. "It always is."

Legolas looked up at him, saw the darkness in his eyes, the hundreds of battles he had fought and the thousands of lives he had taken. How many elves and rangers had he seen die? Elrohir let him go knowing Legolas may die in there.

Strangely, Legolas was no longer afraid.

He pulled the hood over his head, so that neither his hair nor his face would gleam in the dark, and buckled the long dagger that Arahad quietly gave him around his waist. Then he bent down and took a few cautious steps inside the tunnel to look around. The air was thick and stuffy, but there was the draught of hot air from a larger cave not too far in. The floor was littered with bat's droppings and dead insects and sloped gently down.

"I will be back as soon as I can", he said. "Wait for me here."

* * *

It became completely dark.

Legolas held up his hand in front of his eyes, but he could not see it. He tried to close his eyes. There was no difference. When he looked back, the opening was just a faint light that soon disappeared as the tunnel turned down and to the left, and he felt as though the mountain had swallowed him whole.

He kept one hand on the wall, feeling the rough structure of stone under a layer of dusty spider webs, and held the other out in front of him. Sometimes he felt loose stones under his feet, or the brittle bones of small animals. He had to step very carefully to not break them.

He came to think of bears, and things without names that hid in darkness.

The ceiling sank until Legolas brushed his head against it, then lower still so that he had to get to his hands and knees. The air had a foul taste. Now and then by some trick of the mountain, he could hear the goblins talking and the crackling of their fires, but he crept on and on for an eternity without seeming to come closer.

Suddenly the ceiling dropped even lower. Legolas had to lay down flat on his belly and he could still feel the stones against the back of his head. In the darkness he felt around with his hands, and the sudden tightness of the tunnel made his breath catch in his throat. There was no room. The walls on either side had crept closer without him noticing and now they closed around him like the jaws of a great monster. He could not see them, only feel them pressing in on him, sucking the air out of his lungs. For a long while Legolas could not move. If he went on, the tunnel would become narrower - that much he could feel - and perhaps it would get so narrow he could go no longer. There was no knowing if he would be able to back out again. If he got stuck, no one would know.

He lay there breathing heavily in the dark, and for each breath he felt the rocks press closer to his chest and panic rise like a tidal wave inside him. This was how Amdir the Archer had felt when he went inside the dragon's lair, and he saw the coil of smoke ahead, and the dragon spoke to him - that there was nothing more he wanted but to turn around, and this was the last chance to do so, but he could not do it. Not because of duty, or honour, or anything of the kind, but because there were people he knew and loved who needed him to go on. And though Amdir the Archer was just a character in a book of fairy tales, somehow the thought of him gave Legolas the courage he needed to think.

_Breath shallowly_ , he thought. _Breath shallowly and your chest won't expand so much. You'll be smaller._

Forcing himself to take small breaths, Legolas felt that he could move again, and his chest no longer pressed against the stone. But it made him dizzy, and he realised he must make up his mind: it was either go on or try to go back, and he had no time to lose. Like Amdir the Archer, Legolas chose to go on. He wriggled and twisted until he had one arm behind him and one stretched out in front, making his shoulders take up as little place as possible. Then he pulled himself into the passage. It was even narrower than he had thought. The dagger sheath was pressed painfully hard into his thigh, and he had to twist his head to the side to get room. For one frightening moment he truly thought that he was stuck, and panic rose in him again; he closed his eyes and grasped for something - anything - to hold on to with his one free arm, and he found a small jutting rock and held on to it like a drowning man holds onto a rope thrown his way. With an effort he wormed through scraping knees and elbows raw. The back of his head brushed against the rock, and he didn't think it hit too hard but a moment later he felt something warm dampen his hair.

But the tunnel widened now. Legolas crept on, terrified to stop, until at last the ceiling rose again and he could crawl to his knees again.

He sat trembling in the dark, so relieved he had come through he did not think about having to go back. Never before had he felt so grateful that he could breath deeply without feeling stone against his rib-cage. He brushed spider-webs out of his hair, then forced himself to move on. The goblin-voices were so close he could make out stray words. It was warm now - warm like the cellars of his home, when the fires burned upstairs. He was nearly there.

Legolas went on a few paces until he could drag himself to his feet. He unsheathed the dagger; better to have it ready if something showed up that he did not want to hear him. With one hand on the wall and the other on the wall he went on, and he was Amdir the Archer again, seeking the beast that had burnt his home.

Light glowed ahead, the red light of distant fires, and after the darkness Legolas was blinded. He huddled against he wall and moved so quietly even the breath of wind on the spider-webs and the humming of stone under his feet was louder than his footfalls. He was a shadow on the wall, a feather landing on snow.

Ahead of him the tunnel ended, and the hall beyond it was filled with faint fire-light.

_And there in the dark - lo and behold! There was a shimmer of light. The dragon Urúan was only half sleeping. But Amdir the Archer did not stop..._

He did not, and neither did Legolas. When Amdir nocked an arrow to his bow, Legolas swallowed, gripped the sword tighter, and crept closer.

The voices and lights came from below him. The tunnel ended on a ledge above the main cave - not high enough to be safe, and it looked like it would be possible to climb up, but there was no one immediately nearby. Legolas sank into a crouch at the end of the tunnel and listened.

There were many voices, cold raw ones like metal wheels scraping against each other, the laughter of crows and ravens. Shadows danced on the far wall; crooked twisted shapes fighting for tankards of ale and the best spots by the fires. He smelled roasting meat and sweat and metal. He heard leather creak and rusty chainmail clinking. Pressing close to the wall, Legolas crawled further out on the ledge. After the passage in the dark, he barely had the strength left to fear the goblins - they could not see him, not as long as he kept from the fire-light, and they would never hear him. He found a shadowed spot where he could look down.

There were many fires and far more than thirty goblins, as Elladan had feared. They had plenty of supplies, judging by the sacks and barrells heaped along the walls, and though their weapons and armour had seen better days they were well prepared for battle. In the middle of the cave, by the biggest fire, sat a large goblin with a tattered velvet cloak over his shoulders, and a long-sword strapped to his back. He tore greedy pieces of meat from a deer roasting on a spit and fat dribbled down on his fur-collar. Other goblins sat in a circle around him talking. It looked like a war council, and the one in the velvet cloak must be the leader.

Legolas had never seen goblins up close. They were uglier than he had thought anything could be; bald as newly hatched birds, crooked and twisted, with cruel laughs and gleaming adder eyes. And they were many. He counted five around the leader, some ten around the nearest fire, ten more around another, twelve around a third, seven around a fourth; there were many fires, and then all the goblins standing guard along the walls, and the small sneaky ones perching on boulders waiting for a chance to steal a scrap of meat from someone else. Legolas wondered how so many goblins could have gathered without anyone noticing. Glorfindel had not ridden out very often to scout after the twins returned, but it was near Midwinter and the elves had not let their guard down either.

And why were they here? Goblins did not gather in such numbers without reason, not this close to elves and Men. They were after something. It could not be Rivendell; the hidden valley was far too well protected. Perhaps it was Netherford and the Midwinter market - but Legolas had a feeling it was something else.

Tinuhen, he thought. It's Tinuhen they're after.

He had seen enough - it would be dangerous to linger. But just as he began to crawl back from the edge, silence fell in the hall. The goblin in the velvet cloak stood up.

Two new figures stood in the broader tunnel that Legolas guessed led to the opening. One was old and bent and leaned on the other's arm, and they were both cloaked. But they were not goblins. The way they moved and they way they were dressed, Legolas thought they were Men. Or elves.

The goblin in the velvet cloak bowed. "Old One", he said. "We did not expect..."

The older of the newcomers let go of his companion's arm and took a step halfway into the fire-light. Though he was bent and his movements slow, he did not look weak, and his voice was a whisper as powerful as thunder, and as soft as a snake's hiss. Legolas could not take his eyes from him. So this was the Old One that Quick-wing had warned him about, the one even Arahad had heard of. Legolas' body screamed at him to move away, but as long as the Old One spoke, he could not.

"Fools", the Old One said, and the goblins trembled at the displeasure in his voice. "You have been seen. I told you to watch out for the birds!"

"Seen? That's impossible!" said the goblins in the velvet cloak.

The Old One laughed, but it was not a fair sound. "Impossible or not it has happened. You have scouts at your gates, and the elves have already been warned. You must leave now while there is still time."

"But Old One, we are not all gathered..."

"You are large enough in number to take down twenty-five elves in an ambush."

"Surely", the goblin in the velvet cloak whispered, "but not without casualties. We would rather wait a while. Surely your lap dog can do something", he said, and pointed at the Old One's companion, who stood in the shadows as stiff as a cat when the dogs come too close. The other goblins yelled their agreement, and some moved closer. The companion grabbed the hilt of his sword but did not draw it; when he turned to face a goblin to his right, a lock of his hair, cut just by his shoulders, gleamed darkly in the firelight. He was not very tall, but he had the posture of a warrior, and now he threw his head as arrogantly as one.

Legolas, still entranced by the Old One's voice, stared down at him. He could not be certain, far from - but Echail _would_ have had time to go back to Rivendell, then leave in the confusion while the warriors prepared for battle, and it could be him standing there under the cloak - he had the same body, and the same hair. And the Old One - Echail could have known where he was all the time, and just went to fetch him now that the goblins had been discovered. It made sense, for after all, how else would the twins and Arahad and Legolas have been seen?

Echail, or whoever it was, was about to answer when the Old One cut him off.

"Do not question me", he said to the goblin in the velvet cloak. "My servant has his own mission. You will leave now, like I said. Or do you think you know better than me?"

The goblin flinched. "Of course not, Old One! I only thought... of course not."

Satisfied, the Old One turned and left, taking his hooded companion with him. The goblin in the velvet cloak stood still for a moment, then barked out the order that everyone should pack up and prepare to leave. Grumbling and quarrelling the goblins did.

Legolas crawled backwards from the ledge, heart pounding. He'd heard enough, and now he and Arahad and the twins must get away quick before the goblins swarmed out of the cave - but he had seen him at last, the traitor. No wonder lord Elrond had not found him; the elf with the sword might be working inside Rivendell, but the real murderer, the one who gave the orders, was the Old One; and of course someone as powerful and cunning as the Old One had never to go into the House of Elrond. There was no longer any doubt that there was a threat, a plot against Greenwood.

And Tinuhen was in grave danger. As the fires one by one were stomped out behind him, Legolas slipped into the tunnel and broke into a silent run. Quick-wing must be sent back to warn Tinuhen and there was no time to lose. This time Legolas could not hesitate. If he had ever needed to be brave - if he had ever carried the lives of his friends on his shoulders - it was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review ^u^


	19. Courage and Cowardice

When Legolas emerged from the cave, dusty and bruised and covered in spider webs, Arahad and the twins looked at him as though he was a ghost. For all that Legolas knew he might as well be one. The world felt different somehow - unclear and askew, as if it had shrunk while he was in the tunnel.

"The goblins are leaving", he said before the others could ask anything. His voice was so weary it startled him to hear it. "We have to get back before they come out of the cave."

"First of all", Arahad said, looking at him sharply. "Are you unhurt?"

"I am. Where's Quick-wing? He has to warn my brother in case we don't catch them."

It was a long walk back to Rivendell in the dark. Legolas tried to keep up with the others, but he was so exhausted that when they'd come halfway he could go no longer. It was past midnight by then, and Arahad said it was too dangerous to linger in the wilderness with goblins prowling about, so Elladan swept Legolas into his arms and carried him the rest of the way.

The warriors had assembled on the courtyard when they arrived. Glorfindel was talking to Findel and Hawn, and Echail stood nearby with the elf-lord's helmet, noticably pale. When the warriors parted to let the twins and Arahad through, Glorfindel turned to them - worried at first, but once Elladan had put Legolas down on his feet to show he was unhurt, he fixed his gaze on the twins with eyes as hard as steel. Elladan ushered Legolas in behind him. He had never seen the elf-lord look so furious.

"Is the child unharmed?" Glorfindel asked, his voice level but his hands trembling.

"Yes", Elladan said. "Glorfindel, this..."

"Go inside", the elf-lord interrupted him, looking at Legolas. "Echail can take you to your room. You need rest."

Legolas shook his head. He wanted to go to bed, but he couldn't leave Arahad and the twins like this. "I'm staying here."

"Now, child..."

"Glorfindel", Elladan trid again, "listen - this has to wait. The goblins are leaving - we have to ride out and..."

Glorfindel exploded. "The goblins! The _goblins!_ I do not give a damn about the goblins! You have done something so utterly foolish I do not even know where to begin - and you cannot even see it yourselves? This will not wait - you will hear my out, and don't you dare pretend like I am not right. You brought a child into the mountains - at night, when you _knew_ there was danger close by - brought him into the immediate presence of an unknown number of enemies, all under the pretence that it was the best thing to do - something about that sparrowhawk, Echail tells me - and for what? Because there's nothing in your cursed heads but revenge - because you cannot see past your own desire for a vengeance that will never satisfy you. Did you tell him it was safe? That you would protect him? Of all people, you should know that the mountains are never safe."

Arahad buried his face in his hands, but truly, Glorfindel was talking only to the twins - he must have known the ranger would never have done it if it hadn't been for them. The warriors had fallen dead silent around them. Elladan licked his lips.

"We - we didn't force him. Legolas wanted to follow us."

"Legolas wanted to do as you bid", Glorfindel snapped, "because, Eru knows why, he looks up to you. He is a child, he has no experience of this - how could you possibly expect him to make a rational decision?"

"And what should we have done?" Elladan asked, his voice rising. "It was too dangerous to go without someone to speak for the bird -"

"Then you shouldn't have gone at all! You should have swallowed your cursed pride, forgotten your cursed vengeance and let the goblins be! We could have protected our borders _and_ Netherford from the lowlands - there was no need to go into the mountains, only you had to make sure every last of the goblins got killed, and in doing so..."

Hawn stepped forward, quietly took Legolas' arm and tried to lead him away, but Legolas still didn't want to leave. However tired he was, he couldn't abandon the twins.

"Please", he said, "you can talk about all that later, but you have to ride out. The goblins are already leaving. They're going south - at least I think so, because they talked about twenty-five warriors and the wood-elves are twenty-six.. And there was a man, an old man, and I think he's evil..."

"Hold a moment", Glorfindel said, suddenly calm, the way a storm may sometimes cease somewhat before it returns with full strength. "Where did you hear that?"

"In... that is..."

"Give me your hand, Legolas."

Reluctantly, Legolas stepped in front of Elladan and gave the elf-lord his hand. Glorfindel took one look at his dusty and scratched palm, with gravel and spider webs still covering the scraped skin, and closed his eyes.

"You let him go into the cave."

The twins did not reply. Legolas pulled back his hand. No one else moved.

"You let him go into the cave", Glorfindel repeated, looking up again. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. "Alone?"

Legolas looked down. It seemed to be answer enough.

Glorfindel's eyes were as cold as ice, and it was even more frightening than when they looked to be on fire.

"Never in my life", he said, slowly, "never in my life did I believe it of you to be so - so utterly selfish, so completely indifferent to the health and life of a young child - as to risk it for the sake of _revenge_. I trained you to protect people, to defend those who were too weak to do it themselves, not to - to take advantage of someone who admired you... may Varda have mercy upon you! If you throw away your lives, fine - but a child's? What if he had been caught? Did you ever consider that? Caught in the cave like a fox in a trap - he could have been tortured just like your - "

Elrohir gave a wail so loud and shrill it didn't sound elven, as if the realisation hit him as hard as if it had truly happened. Glorfindel trailed off. Shaking like an ashen leaf Elrohir dropped his face into his hands.

"That is enough, Glorfindel!" lady Arwen's voice rang out across the courtyard. "I think you have said what needed to be said, and more." She pushed her way through the crowd, her night-gown flowing behind her, put her arms around Elrohir and drew him close; he'd gone rigid, like one so caught up in fear or despair that every muscle of their body turns to iron, a cuirass of steel and thorns to protect the softness inside it.

"Here, Elrohir, forget that - let's get you inside. Elladan, give me a hand."

Elladan quietly took Elrohir's other arm, and together they walked him up the stair and into the house. They met lord Elrond halfway; they walked past him, and the expression on lord Elrond's face was so tired, so hopeless, that for all that Legolas was angry with him it wrenched his heart to see it. Glorfindel closed his eyes again, shocked by his own words.

"Well, my lord", Arahad said. "You handled that splendidly."

"What are you all staring at?" Glorfindel snapped, startling the warriors. "Get mounted! We're riding out."

* * *

Legolas wanted so badly to sleep, but once he did, back in his room with the rangers snoring next door, he dreamt. In his dreams the passages of the cave went endlessly on and on; darker and narrower the longer he went, but he could not stop, for there were goblins behind him and with them went an old man with a hollow laughter that filled the whole tunnel -

\- and he woke with a choked scream, tangled in his sheets. It took him a moment to realise where he was. He wormed free of the sheets and curled up on the bed, shaking and wide-eyed and frightened to sleep again, because the dream hovered so close on the borders of his mind he knew it was just waiting to continue.

When he was calmer, Legolas climbed from the bed, dressed and left the room. There would be light in the Hall of Fire; one of the fires were always left to glow through the night, and he figured he could blow life in it and sit there until dawn broke. But the hall was not empty. The twins were already there, sitting in silence with their heads together as so many times before. Elrohir was huddling under a cloak, and the silver pearl in Elladan's hair glinted in a way that reminded Legolas of the first time he talked to him, that first night in Rivendell when he found them just like this. It was as though nothing had changed since then; as if they'd never been to the Midwinter market, and never sat around the fire competing about who could eat the most pancakes.

Suddenly Legolas was frightened that it was so. That the twins, after the encounter with the goblins and everything that Glorfindel said, would go back into that unspeakable sadness - that they would be afraid to hurt someone, or to hurt themselves, and never want to talk to anyone again. Legolas couldn't let that happen. Perhaps he could not imagine how it felt to be the twins, but he did know how overwhelming and exhausting it was to be sad and scared and alone.

He shuffled his feet, making a noise that made Elrohir curl up tighter under the cloak, and Elladan turn to look at him.

"Are you not going to sleep, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head. "No. I mean, I did, but I had a nightmare. I don't want to sleep again."

Elladan's features softened. He said something to his brother, who relaxed somewhat and turned as well. Elrohir was very pale, and his eyes were swollen.

"I am truly sorry", Elladan said, beckoning at Legolas to come closer. "Of course you would not sleep well - I should have thought of that. We should all have thought of that, but - after all that happened, and with Glorfindel gone..."

"I get it. It's alright."

"By the Valar, it isn't. Come", Elladan said, and Legolas stepped closer, sinking to the floor beside him. "The healers have draughts that can help you sleep undisturbed."

Legolas shook his head. He was very tired, but not tired enough for the healers.

"You know", Elladan said, "for all that Glorfindel is right and we should never have let you follow us - and Arahad was right too, and we should have listened to him - you did amazingly well. Many grown elves wouldn't have dared to go into a cave like that even without goblins present. You kept your head clear enough to count them, and to escape in time. We - we truly were as foolish as Glorfindel says..." Elrohir whimpered and pressed closer to his brother, "but we are very proud of you."

Legolas blushed. "Uh - thank you. But..."

"What?"

"I wasn't brave at all", Legolas admitted, biting his lip. "I was scared almost all the time."

"That doesn't matter. Only a fool would not have been scared, and you are a very clever young elf. What matters is that you did what you had to despite that. That's being brave - that's courage."

Incredulous, Legolas felt as though he grew several inches with pride. Mother had said he was brave too, but he had always thought she was just being a mother. "Like - like Amdir the Archer then? I thought of him, when I was in the cave, because I nearly got stuck and I wanted to turn but then I thought... Amdir was scared too, but he went on anyway. Was that also courage?"

"Indeed it was", Elladan said gravely. "Amdir the Archer is a story about just that - how sometimes we must press on, despite our fear, and how it is not always the strongest or the wisest who is the hero, but someone just like you and me who just happens to be there." He tilted his head, considering. "And do you remember how it said, in the book, that even when the dragon Urúan was dead, Amdir could never forget his eyes in the dark or his voice speaking to him from the shadows? Such memories linger, but that does not mean they will always be scary. There will come a point when they are nothing but memories; no more frightening than what you had for breakfast. It may seem like it will always be like it is now, but it... it won't."

Legolas looked up at him, wondering if Elladan believed that himself - thinking that if he did, that was a change for the better.

"I think, if I had known how it would be in that cave before I went inside, I would still have done it", he said. "But I don't want to do it again. And I didn't realise it was as important as Glorfindel said." He pulled his knees up to his chest thoughtfully. "Why was Glorfindel so angry? Nothing happened anyway. And he shouldn't have said all those things."

"Maybe not", Elladan agreed. "He was angry because when the others returned and you weren't with them, he was frightened. Yes, little one, even Glorfindel can be frightened. He thought something bad would happen to you. You must remember it wouldn't be the first time bad things happened to elves he was supposed to protect."

"Oh... Like your mother?"

"And every single on of her guards. Well - expect for one."

There was a hint of loathing in Elladan's voice as he said that, and it struck Legolas as very odd - until it dawned on him. "Echail."

Elladan nodded slowly. "Echail."

"He should have guarded lady Celebrían."

"He was the one in command", Elrohir said, looking up for the first time. His voice was hoarse and tinged with hatred. "It was his first time as the head of the guards. Everyone was certain he would do splendidly, because he was such a promising young warrior, as proud and arrogant as he pretends to be now." Legolas had never heard him speak so many words at once, and they came tumbling like a spring-flood as if he had carried them inside him for a very long time. "But when the orcs attacked them in the Redhorn Gate, Echail panicked. It wasn't the first time he fought goblins, or even the first time he was in an ambush, but this time he was in command and he - well something snapped, and he couldn't think. Instead of giving order of defence or retreat he stood frozen in fear, and the guards, though they got ready for battle, didn't know what to do. It was our mother who took command at last. But they had already lost precious time by then and were overwhelmed. Echail survived because he stayed out of battle, so when it was clear the others would lose, he he could simply turn his horse around and ride away. He was injured because a stray arrow hit him as he fled - it was poisoned and he couldn't treat it on his own, so by the time he got back to Rivendell it was beyond mending. But he lived when all the other guards did not. Had he done his duty they might all have lived."

" _Ai_ , Elbereth _"_ , Legolas whispered. Of all the vile and traitorous things he had thought Echail capable of, this was the most sickening of them all. To live with that would be worse than dying, he thought.

"Our mother, as you know, survived as well", Elladan said quietly, when Elrohir slumped in his arms and it became clear that no more words would come from him. "But only a shard of her remained when we found her. Like Glorfindel said they'd taken her to a cave, just like the one you went inside, and she... well, she..." He blinked hard, stroking his brother's hair. "She couldn't stay here after that. Some thought that Echail should leave with her, because he'd never truly heal and because no one would forget what he had done. Perhaps it would have been better, but he wanted to stay. And because he had saved mother, after all, by returning home so swiftly - and because there was little else for him when he could not be a warrior - father made him his valet."

"I don't understand", Legolas said. "Why would he do that? It was all Echail's fault!"

"So it was", Elladan said, "but it is hard to prove. After all, we cannot know the elves would have won even if he had kept his senses. And I think, while he was healing and father had to tend to him, he came to rely on Echail very much. I'm sure Echail felt guilty and swore to help as much as he could. And father... well, something had broken in him. He lost himself, I think, to his sadness and to his shame. He could heal mother's body but not her soul, and he would never forgive himself for that. He needed someone to help him go through the day; to get out of bed, and get dressed, and remember to eat."

How was one to live with so much sadness? Legolas stared at the fire and the world seemed dark and cruel and unfair - if one elf could be hurt so badly she had to leave her home and her family to heal, but another could get away with a bad leg and a high position though he, in a way, was responsible for her hurt. Then he realised something else.

"Laeros... the elf that we were hoping lord Elrond could heal, who's in he mountains now. He's the same as lady Celebrían, healed in the body - well nearly - but not the soul. For lord Elrond, won't it be like lady Celebrían all over again?"

Elladan gave a deep sigh. "So it will."

"And if he can't save Laeros either..."

"Yes. That will be terrible for him. But if he can save him, then - well, maybe it will be like some sort of conclusion. Like a second chance." Elladan turned away, running his fingers along an old scar that went down his wrist, and silence fell heavily upon them for a while. "Speaking of Amdir the Archer", he said suddenly, "I never gave it back to you. Let's go and fetch it shall we? We have been sitting here long enough. Come on, Elrohir, to your feet."

Pulling a protesting Elrohir with him, Elladan stood, then took Legolas by the arm and pulled him up as well. They left the fire burning as they went. The corridors outside were mostly dark, but shot through by spears of moonlight, and there was a light under lord Elrond's door and the sound of low voices. The twins and Legolas passed it quietly. Elladan pointed out another door as lady Arwen's - there was a light under it too - then opened one of the two opposite doors. They entered a small parlour, less formal than lord Elrond's, littered with discarded clothes, pieces of armour and arrows in dire need of new fletching - even the small couch and the armchair by the fire-place were full of things, and the table between them nearly invisible under heaps of papers, a pair of newly greased boots set out to dry, and a significant number of half-full tea cups. Elladan threw the papers to the floor and found _Tales from Doriath_ under a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it.

"Uh... sorry about the mess. I haven't had the mind to tidy it for a while. Would've been just great if I had spilled ink on your book or something."

Elrohir snickered, leaning over Elladan's shoulder to look at the book. " _Of archery and cleverness_... I don't recognise this book."

"No, Erestor does not have it - unless he kept it from us so we would not get any silly ideas. It's a book with fairy tales and adventures. Had we read it when we were young we would have ran around all day playing orc spies against squirrel knights."

"There are squirrel knights?"

"I knew you would like it! Yes, there is one - His Squirrelness Sir Bron the Faithful, knighted after his long service to King Thingol in the face of great evil. Here, I have an idea. If none of us are going to sleep anyway, why don't we sit down and read instead? I can read this time, and you two listen. What do you say?"

"Only if we read about His Squirrelness Bron", Elrohir said.

" _Sir_ Bron, little brother, and that's an excellent choice."

After Elladan had pushed most of the things from the couch onto the floor, Legolas and Elrohir curled up one on each side and waited for him blow life into the fire. Then he emptied the armchairs of arrows and sat down, opening the book.

"All ready? You have to see the chapter illustration first, there's Bron and his mighty steed Skittish the Hare. Now, then. Bron the Faithful. It so happened in the Year of the Many Rains, that by the end of the summer our Most Esteemed King Thingol was riding through the northern lands when a thunderstorm broke out and..."

The story was a long one, and easy to lose oneself in. Elladan read so it came to life; so the summer rain seemed to pour down outside and the room became a forest - a forest that to Legolas looked very much like Greenwood, but even bigger and even older, and with orc spies and squirrel knights in it. It was very exciting, and many times it seemed quite impossible that Bron the Squirrel would be in time to warn King Thingol about the spies - and yet, at some point before it was over, Legolas must have fallen asleep. He woke when sunlight filled the room, on the couch under Elrohir's cloak. _Tales from Doriath_ lay on the table beside him, and the room was empty.

* * *

Glorfindel was gone for two days. He sent three messengers back, and all of them said that everyone was fine, and they hadn't found the goblins, and were probably going to turn soon, or at least - the messengers muttered - that was what everyone hoped. Apparently Glorfindel wasn't keen on letting the goblins out of his grasp again.

Though the House of Elrond was rather empty with so many elves gone, it bustled with activity, because they were late with the Midwinter preparations and now everything had to be done at the same time. They cleaned out every fire-place in the house, put new candles in the chandeliers, swept stairs and baked so much bread and cakes and pies the ovens did not even cool overnight before they were lit again. Since they were lacking in numbers, stable-boys were set to clean windows, laundry elves were tasked to blanch almonds for the mulled wine, and one fine morning found a couple of guards on their knees in the Hall of Fire scrubbing the floor, while Erestor sat on top of a table to be out of their way and had Ninneth show him how to tie meadow sweet garlands. Legolas joined the preparations, but half-heartedly; the familiar tasks, and the unfamiliar ones, reminded him that he'd never spent a Midwinter without his parents before, and he longed for them so much it ached in his chest.

By every passing hour it seemed less and less likely that Tinuhen would be there in time. At first Legolas was certain he must arrive soon; then he decided that Gandalf would come and delay the meeting - and at last, two days before Midwinter, he began to wonder if any of them would, and the thought struck him that maybe Gandalf, too, had been hindered.

That night the kitchen-elves polished the finest tableware of frosted glass with inlaid gold until they shone, and though they were many helping it was well past midnight before they were done. Legolas and Ninneth were there - Lindir was helping lord Elrond - and some of the rangers, and Tilwine and Scead. They sat down in the warm kitchen, for it was getting so cold even the elves could feel it, and after the kitchen-elves opened a barrel of wine (that actually belonged to the Head Cook) it wasn't long before everyone had red cheeks and loud voices.

"But Tilwine", Findel said, "how long are you two planning to stay anyway? The Midwinter market is soon over, and you haven't tried to find an employer yet. It seems you me you've forgotten that little detail."

"Don't remind me!" Tilwine groaned. "I don't want to leave this house."

"Then don't, friend!" said the elves in chorus. "You are welcome to stay!"

"Ah - Lord Elrond would never let us..."

"He could never say no, if you asked", said Hawn. "Lord Elrond is too kind for that."

For a moment Tilwine looked very tempted, but before he had made up his mind, Scead said: "As much as I would love to stay, I for one couldn't. I need to see the horizon. And I want to return home, just to see that my family are alright. But our journeys might lead us this way again."

"Yes", Tilwine said with a glance at his friend. "Yes, exactly. We will come back! Surely we will."

An hour or so later the platters and plates and glasses and bowls stood in neat heaps all shining like a dragon's treasure, and the forks and spoons and knives had been sorted into wooden boxes with velvet lining, ready to be laid out on the table. They finished the last of the wine, hid the empty barrel, stretched their aching backs and went yawning upstairs.

"Here, Glorfindel's back!" one of them said, looking out a window. "Finally!"

The elves, Scead and Tilwine all rushed to the window, Legolas and Ninneth slipping between the others to climb the window-sill. The courtyard was filled with the light of torches and the white puffs of breath from elves and horses. Among the slender elven horses stood a grey mare that Legolas had never seen before, saddled and bridled with red and gold.

"Who's that?"

"I don't know", one of the kitchen-elves said. "It's not lady Galadriel, is it?"

"Does lady Galadriel have a staff and a long beard?" asked another and pointed to someone who stood talking to Glorfindel. "That's Saruman the White! I wonder what he's doing here."

"Why, he's a wizard, isn't he?" Tilwine said. "And they go where they want, don't they? Not that I should know, I mean, I've never met him."

Legolas pressed his cheek against the glass and squinted. He had never seen Saruman the White either, at least not as he could remember, because he rarely visited Greenwood - but the old man beside Glorfindel looked more or less like he had imagined, as tall as Gandalf but with a white beard and white robes glimpsing under his cloak. He stood very straight, and there was something noble about him that neither Gandalf nor Radagast had, but apart from that he looked very much a wizard.

The elves, the rangers, Tilwine and Scead went out the kitchen door and came round the corner of the house. The warriors were all tired and travel-stained, but unharmed. They hadn't seen a single goblin, and some muttered that it was an embarrassing turn of events - Glorfindel had been soundly defeated, and that without a single battle.

"Cursed if I know how it happened", one of them said. "But the mists were so thick that at times we simply had to stop and wait until they cleared, and all those tracks - I don't know how it was possible for them to make so many misleading tracks."

"It was strange, really", said another. "Everything seemed to go against us"

At that moment, lord Elrond came down the stair, followed by Lindir, Echail and Erestor, and the elves on the courtyard parted so that Saruman could step forward and clasp the elf-lord's hands. Lord Elrond smiled, one of those smiles of true joy that were so rare and yet looked so natural on him.

"My dear Saruman! You arrive just in time. If you knew how glad I am to see you."

"I had a feeling I might be needed", Saruman said. His voice was soft and kind, but rang clearly over the courtyard - and for a brief moment, so short it could have been his imagination, Legolas was frightened. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to hide, and then it was gone. The elf-lords were talking and paid him no notice. Ninneth pulled at his arm.

"You've got to say hello to Saruman's horse. She's the sweetest mare you'll ever meet. Come!"

Still wondering what had just happened, Legolas let himself be led to the grey mare, who stood patiently waiting behind her master. Her golden bridle jingled softly when she lifted her head to look at them. She bore four heavy saddle-bags, all closed with many straps and emblazoned with intricate patterns. When another elf began to untie them, Saruman returned to oversee it.

"Here - be careful with those. Let me take that one - thank you, Ninneth." He smiled at her, taking the saddle bag, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. "Dear me, you have grown! You are almost a lady, now."

Ninneth grinned and blushed, then tugged at Legolas arm to get him to step forward. "Have you met Saruman before? Saruman, this is Legolas. He's from Greenwood."

The White Wizard's eyes, gentle but piercing under bristling black eyebrows, finally fell on Legolas, and an odd expression passed over his face, almost as if he were angry. And Legolas felt fear clutch his heart again, unreasonable and overwhelming, and he took a step back, instinctively wrapping his arms around him.

Then Saruman smiled, tilting his head. He no longer looked angry. "No, I do not believe we have met. Legolas? That is a royal name."

"I was named after the prince", Legolas said. Again the fear had passed as quickly as it had come, but for some reason it seemed important the wizard knew that.

"Ah." Saruman looked at his plain linen shirt, stained from the day's work, and doubtlessly thought that obviously, _prince_ Legolas would not have been dressed like that and stood with the servants. But he smiled as kindly as ever and said: "Then you came perhaps with the other wood-elves, those that are now in the mountains? Oh, yes, I knew of them - I have many eyes and ears all over the world, and though I have been unable to help, I was greatly concerned when I heard about them. But fear not", he said gently. "Whether in the forest or in the mountains, wood-elves are brave and hardy. I am certain they will be well."

"Thank you", Legolas said, looking down. Saruman was a wizard, and wizards are good and kind. There was really no reason to be afraid.

* * *

Tinuhen swallowed. The Stair looked narrower in the dark.

"We could wait for dawn", said Maidh and did not try to hide his discomfort.

"We could", Tinuhen said, "but I do not want to spend another night in this wretched place if I can help it. Beren needs treatment, and quickly."

"I don't like it, my prince", Maidh said.

Tinuhen did not like it either. There was a reason they had set up camp further down instead of here where they would have been more sheltered. The cliffs rose high on all sides, towering over the worn stairs and blocking the view in every direction. The elves sat silently on their horses with a cold with tugging at their cloaks. No, Tinuhen did not like it at all.

But here was finally a chance to leave the Misty Mountains behind them once and for all. Earlier that day they had finally broken through the mass of snow and stone that had blocked their way, and in the evening the way had been cleared enough that they could pass through. If they started now and rode quickly, they would be well on their way down Caradhras before dawn.

"I know you are uneasy", he said and turned to the others, noting with a start his voice did not ring with its usual authority, "I _know_ you are uneasy", he tried again with more satisfying result, "but what you feel is the wind and the dark and the cold, and there is nothing unnatural about that. Things move in the Mountains. That we know by now. But it is nothing more than a mountain, and Rivendell is on the other side. If we ride tonight and set off again tomorrow as soon as we are rested, we can get there in time for Midwinter."

"This is folly", Hethulin said. Though the others looked at her in shock, it seemed she had voiced their opinions as well as her own.

Tinuhen's eyes narrowed. "Folly, Hethulin?"

"Yes, _my prince_ , and you know it. You will have us stuck up on Caradhras in the middle of night rather than let us wait a few hours more for dawn. Beren..."

"What about him?"

"Nothing, my prince, only he has made it this far. Surely a few hours won't make much difference."

That wasn't what she had meant to say, and Tinuhen knew it. The last week Beren had not opened his eyes once, and the healers had sat with him through every night because they did not want him to die alone. Something had been crushed inside him under the snow, they said, and they could not tell what - it could be just a bone, only pieces of it had gone into his blood stream and poisoned him. Because they couldn't give him the medication he needed, his body had taken to a last resort and simply shut off, saving its remaining strength to keep his heart beating.

"A few hours", Tinuhen said, "may mean the difference between life and death, Hethulin."

"It may", Hethulin said sternly, "for _us_. I did not dig through all that stone only to be killed - "

"Enough!" Tinuhen snapped. "If you don't want to go, then you may stay behind. But I am going." He turned her back on her to face the others. They were all pale and doubtful, their eyes hollow after so many nights of restless sleep. Tinuhen could not risk to lose his authority over them. It would mean their death.

"We ride now", he said, wearier than he'd wish. "For Beren's sake. For Greenwood's, too. Anyone who doesn't want to go can stay behind - I'm not forcing anyone. But I leave now."He turned his horse around and rode towards the foot of the Stair. Maidh followed, and grudgingly, not without hesitation, the others fell in line behind him. Hethulin was one of the last, but of course, she wouldn't stay behind on her own.

They had to ride in single file. The steps were made low and broad so that horses and wagons could manage them, and Naru had worked on the harnesses so that the pull horses now walked in single file as well; they left anything unnecessary behind. At some places the Stair was so narrow the wagon barely got through, and at others it was very steep. Runes marked the distance as they rode. Every now and then a stone came loose above and the horses shied as it clattered down between them.

They had no torches, for they needed to see well in the dark, but still the shadows seemed to leap and dance around them, and sometimes Tinuhen thought he saw eyes gleaming in crevices high above, but when he looked closely there was nothing. His heart was a tense flutter in his throat and a muscle in his arm twitched. More than once he wanted to turn to Maidh and ask him something, only to hear something else than the wailing wind and the clatter of stones, but Maidh was behind him and Tinuhen wanted to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

His horse was jumpier than ever, shying at nothing and everything; she almost threw Tinuhen off when the wind blew something small and fluttery past his head. Tinuhen turned and saw Tulus catch in in mid-air. He gave it to Maidh, who handed it to Tinuhen. It was a piece of plain uncoloured linen, stained with rust from cleaning old mail. Tinuhen held it up to his nose and sniffed. It reeked off sweat and dirt.

They came to a halt, and Tinuhen hesitated. The wind was stronger now, and the snow smoke was so thick he could not see far. A stone fell to his right; then another, to the left.

But it was not that. Not really.

The stones and the wind were ominous, but they were not a reason to turn. The piece of fabric could mean something and it could mean nothing; it was not a reason to turn.

The reason was that Tinuhen's heart had been screaming _danger danger danger_ since the moment he entered the Stair. He had felt like this before the avalanche; a cold warning urging him to heed it, though it had been faint then and he hadn't understood. Had he followed it then they would not have been stuck up here, the White Council would not have had to be delayed, and Legolas - young naive Legolas that Tinuhen had sworn to protect would not have been on his own in Rivendell. But he had not heeded it then. It had not seemed rational.

Tinuhen clutched the cloth so hard his knuckles whitened. Then he let it fall to the ground and twisted in the saddle, raising his voice above the howl of the wind.

"We will turn. Hethulin is right. This is too dangerous."

Despite the efforts it would take them to turn around in that narrow space, the long way back and the difficulty of setting up camp again in the middle of the night, no one complained. It took them half an hour of arguing and shuffling and moving back and forth to turn themselves and the horses, and when that was done they debated a long while on how to turn the cart. In the end, Maidh - who up until then had hardly proved more useful than as a jester - came up with the idea. They emptied the wagon of all its contents, carefully lifting Beren out and laying him on a blanket on the ground; he did not notice, merely groaned in his sleep; then they unharnessed the horses and coerced them to lay down in the snow. It took seven elves to lift the wagon up in the air and carefully turn it around, carry it over the pull horses and set it down again behind them, but despite the cold and their own uneasiness the act brought a lot of laughter. Laeros sat between the pull horses and kept their heads down when the wagon was lifted over them. There was so much life in him again that Tinuhen almost forgot about Beren's condition. If Laeros could recover, surely Beren could.

When they set off, with the wagon at the head, Tinuhen found himself at the rear. Under other circumstances it might have disturbed him, but it would have taken too much time to get past all the horses and the wagon, only because of a formality. And after all, it did not seem right that a captain should ride at the head when the danger was behind.

And the danger behind them, it turned out, was real enough. It was pure luck - or instinct, maybe - that made Tinuhen look over his shoulder when they were halfway back to the entrance - and there was a shadow moving through the snow behind them. And another.

He went cold.

Goblins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...is that another cliff-hanger? Yes. Yes it is.
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay, but as I wrote, I'm studying full time now and it's difficult to keep up with the updates. However, I promise you all that I will finish the story, so no worries that I'll leave it! :)


	20. Turning Points

"My prince!" Maidh yelled. "What are you doing?"

Tinuhen drew his sword and pulled the shield from his back. He knew what he must do. The elves could not fight properly in the Stair, but they would never reach open ground before the goblins caught up with them - unless someone kept them at bay. The Stair was narrow enough that for a little while, Tinuhen figured, one person would be enough for just that.

He was last.

"My prince - "

"You go on, Maidh", Tinuhen said, without turning. "Hethulin! You are in charge. Get the elves to open ground, set up a shield-wall at the bottom of the Stair and wait for me there. I can hold this ground for a few minutes. Retreat!" he called over his shoulder, and the line of riders set in motion again, the wagon creaking and protesting at their head. Hethulin urged them on, Tulus taking charge at the back of the line. His heart racing, Tinuhen dismounted. Maidh lingered behind.

"Let me - "

"There is only room for one of us", Tinuhen said and fixed his eyes on the goblins. Through the whirling snow he could see them watching him, but there were only half a dozen of them yet. "I will manage. Go, Maidh, it is an order!"

Maidh hesitated, but he was too frightened to stay. Tinuhen could not blame him. He did not want to stand here either, alone in the dark, facing Eru knew how many goblins. He weighed the sword in his hand, tried to get a better grip. Behind him he could hear the elves disappearing down the Stair. His horse lifted her head and whinnied anxiously after them.

"Stay with me, girl, just a while. We will be off soon."

The goblins stood still some twenty steps away, mere shadows in the snow dust. More were coming up behind them until there was nothing but a dark mass of bodies, still waiting. Tinuhen licked his lips. He could run. He could still run.

The horse bolted, dashing after the others. No escape now.

Still they waited, measuring each other up and down. The goblins were doubtlessly wondering if it was a ruse, if the others would be hiding just behind the bend of the Stair. The wait was unbearable and necessary - none wanted to attack first, none wanted to be taken unawares, but the longer it took the more time did Hethulin have to get back to open ground. Still Tinuhen wavered. He couldn't take it any longer, the wait - he was going to attack - he'd just charge into them and -

A bowstring sang and Tinuhen ducked behind his shield, crouching low. Arrows thudded into his shield, rattling on the iron edge, one hitting the snow beside his right foot. He didn't have to look up to know the goblin's were charging - he heard them, but remained crouched and seemingly unaware, listening for their heavy footsteps - counting five, seven, ten before they were upon him. Yelling he flew up, ramming his shield into the foremost goblin, then thrusting his sword into its unprotected neck. The goblin sputtered, blood bubbling up between its lips, and fell backwards into the others. Tinuhen jerked his sword loose. He caught a glimmer of amber eyes before a second goblin leapt over the first, barreling into him.

Shield against shield they struggled, Tinuhen the stronger, the goblin backed up by the mass of others pressing on behind him. But the force of the others was dangerous in itself. When Tinuhen unexpectedly took a step back, the goblin fell forward, baring the nape of its neck,and Tinuhen thrust down. His blade cut through thick skin and muscles, dug into sinews and veins. He backed once more, stepping clear of the goblin before two others pushed forward, warier than the first two. The first he brought down quickly, pushing it backwards in the way of those behind it. The second came at him with more care. They feinted and parried, locking swords. A scimitar from the side struck Tinuhen's shield so hard he felt it all the way up to his shoulder, and he staggered down another step, slashing out, hitting metal, pulling back just in time to block another blow. He had lost all sense of time, but he knew that the Stair was widening, and if he backed too far he would have goblins on all sides. He brought one down, gave another a deep gash across the belly, and the snow was slippery wet with blood.

The Stair betrayed him. When he set foot on the edge of a step it cracked, a portion of it giving way, and he stumbled, flinging his shield out to regain his balance. A sword bounced off his leather cuirass - another found the slit in the side and dug upward, cold steel tearing through cloth and skin and biting into his abdomen.

Tinuhen gasped - he would have screamed if he had had enough air - stumbled backwards. Blood gushed warm and steaming into the snow. Blindly he struck, then backed again, then struck, pain flaring through the wound in his side. He raised his shield again, but his body was too weak, and when a sword rang against the iron edge he wavered, then fell to his knees. He raised the shield again and it was all he could do not hold it up and let the swords thunder upon it. The wood cracked. He was dizzy. The goblins laughed at him.

And then they laughed no more. A bow sang, arrows whistled, and there was the sound of hooves on the stone steps.

"To your feet, my prince!" Hethulin cried, and when Tinuhen did not obey fast enough she reached down and grabbed his arm. "Mount, mount!"

Somehow holding on to both sword and shield, Tinuhen hauled himself up behind her and she turned her horse around, kicking it into a gallop down the Stair. Arrows flew around their heads and the goblins charged again, yelling after them, but they had no chance to catch up and soon gave up the chase to regroup. Hethulin leaned over her horse's neck and Tinuhen to her back. They came around the last bend and found the other elves waiting in tight lines - half with their swords and shields at the ready, half with arrows nocked and drawn. The shield-wall split to let them through, and they were out.

"Ready the wagon! Naru, how's the fire going?"

Tinuhen watched in disbelief as the elves pushed the emptied wagon in front of the entrance, blocking it almost completely. Naru sat behind the archers and threw the boards of a smashed barrel onto his growing fire. The archers had tied rolls of fabric to the tip of their arrows.

"Since when do we have fire arrows?"

"Since you left me in charge", Hethulin said. She swung one leg over the side of her horse and jumped to the ground, then turned to ease Tinuhen down. Laeros, pale and shivering, took her horse and led it away to the others, then sunk to the ground there with his head hanging down, as if he meant to wait passively for whatever would come his way.

Pressing his sword-arm to his side, Tinuhen limped over to the shield-wall and took his place at one end of it, leaving the archers to Hethulin. The plan, simple as it was, was clear to him. Standing six elves in breadth, there weren't more of them than to make two lines behind each other, and they had never truly fought in a shield-wall, only practised it. Tulus perched on the back of the wagon keeping watch over the Stair. Side by side, their breath steaming in the night air, the elves waited.

"Here they come!"

Hethulin looked up. "Ready your arrows! Naru!"

"Shields up!" Tinuhen commanded. "Protect the archers! Be ready!"

Half the sword-elves flung their shields up over their heads to cover the archers, the other half leaning forward, ready to hold the wagon back when the goblins came. Naru grabbed two burning branches and went from archer to archer to set their arrows ablaze. This time it wasn't just the sound of their feet that could be heard, but the unearthly howls and maddened laughter as the goblins welled down the Stair.

"How many are they?" Maidh asked, his voice high-pitched. "My prince?"

"Enough for all of us", Tinuhen said. Truth was, because of the snow and the twisting stair, he had no idea. "Be prepared."

"They're here!" Tulus yelled, ducking behind the wagon. Hethulin answered him: " _Fire!_ "

The arrows flew high, bright arches of flaming red that lit up the walls of the Stair. Behind the wagon howls turned to screams and laughter to curses. Salve after salve of regular arrows followed the first while half the archers prepared new fire arrows. The flames leapt into the air - clothes and bodies must be on fire. The worst of the tide had been stemmed, but the next salve thudded on shields, and the first goblins were closing in on the wagon.

"Ready!" Tinuhen cried, putting his shoulder to the side of the wagon. "Hold your ground!"

Urged on by the fire behind them and their desire to see the battle over quickly, the goblins ran headfirst into the wagon, ramming it so hard it nearly toppled. The elves pushing on the other side were sent stumbling backwards, and though they quickly took up their posts again they had lost important inches. There was no second blow, just a steady march that slowly pushed the wagon their way.

"Spread out!" Tinuhen shouted when it became clear the wagon was lost. "Hethulin - set it on fire!"

One last fire arrow settled in the hay that had been left inside the wagon, and it burst into flames, vicious and blinding, giving the sword-elves the time they needed to reform their shield-wall for the next onslaught. Tinuhen raised his shield. The movement hurt - so much, and so unexpectedly, he felt faint. He realised coldly he would not be able to fight. For a moment he saw stars.

They locked shields. There was a clatter of steel on steel as each elf knocked their shield against the one beside them, making sure they touched and would not be breached by the first strike. They crouched as one, steeling themselves for the tidal wave of rage and muscle strength heading their way. Pushing the burning wagon out of the way, the goblins howled, triumphant now. Tinuhen threw his head back and screamed.

The goblins slammed into the elves, ramming their shields, sending them staggering backwards, and their lines wavered. The force took the breath out of them. Arrows flew over their heads and took a few goblins; they brought some down of their own, slashing blindly with their swords, but light-weight Tulus was a weak point on one side and Tinuhen an ever weaker point on the other. Then as one they pushed back with all their strength. Pressed on by those behind them, the front goblins could not back for another such attack, but the force of the first one had been devastating. More arrows fell, but the main attack was down on the struggle shield on shield, and the elves were losing. Nearest the wagon, Tulus was forced backwards - a dagger took him in the knee, and he was down, the archers pulling him out of the way before the goblins surged through.

"Watch your backs!" Tinuhen cried. "They're going to outflank us!"

The rest was chaos. In mere seconds the shield-wall broke into scattered groups fighting back to back, the archers drawing daggers or short-swords to join in, the goblins pouring out until they were all around. Tinuhen had Maidh and another sword-elf beside him and for a while that was all he knew. His arms were heavy, his movements slow, and he was losing. It was dark, his head filled with a soft whirring sound as is from a thousand wings beating at the same time.

"The healers! _Stop them!_ "

Tinuhen turned around, in time to see half a dozen goblins break free of the fighting and head for the trees across the clearing. The healers were hiding there with Beren laying on a blanket, but the goblins had seen them. Roaring Tinuhen hunted after them, but a shield struck him on the side of his head and everything spun. He saw Maidh and a couple of others rush past him, saw one of the healers struck to her knees and knew that they had lost - but it was darkening, darkening so swiftly. The sound of wings was loud in his head, and he thought he heard the howl of wolves and the roar of a bear in the thickening darkness.

The world tipped to the side. Elves and goblins and horses spun around and disappeared; he lay staring at a sky so dark only slivers of the moon was visible behind the sea of black wings. An eagle swooped down, tearing at a goblin's face. A hawk came flying, clawing where the eagle left off. A bear leapt over Tinuhen where he lay and he heard no scream, just a whimper and the crack of crushed bones as another goblin fell. Hethulin was screaming something -

"Radagast! _Radagast is here!_ "

Radagast. So he had come at last. The goblins were shouting and cursing, birds were shrieking, bats whirred over Tinuhen's head on black leathery wings. The moon came back in glimpses and flashes as the cloud of wings and feathers above him shifted. Tinuhen's mind drifted.

"Here - can you drink?"

"Whaa - "

"Drink", Hethulin said, gently lifting his head. Tinuhen was utterly confused. He'd not been laying under trees a moment ago.

"How long - "

"That was an order."

"Outrageous", Tinuhen muttered and drank. The water was cold and clear and tinged with something that parted the mists of his mind. The pain returned, but it was bearable now. When he moved, he felt the tear of fresh stitches under the tight bandages.

"Are you alright, Hethulin?"

"I am, my prince."

Someone coughed. Tinuhen gathered strength for a moment, then sat up. The birds were gone, expects those few who lay dead on the battle field, and the bats and the bear and the wolves. A dozen elves sat under the trees, silhouetted against the fire, slumped and still, and the healers - both of them still alive, though one limping badly - moved between them. The rest were out in the open making a pile of goblin bodies by the burnt-out wagon to block the Stair once more. Radagast stood a bit away, deep in thought. It was so quiet. Too quiet.

"Did someone..."

"You should rest, my prince."

"Hethulin."

Her voice shivered. "We... we think they were after Laeros. That they wanted to kill him for what he could tell about Dol Guldur - that's what all this is, isn't it? About Dol Guldur and that secret meeting. Radagast said so too."

"I believe you. But what..."

"Oh, Tinuhen..." She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. "They thought Laeros was with the healers. That's why they headed for them. They shot Beren, Tinuhen. He's dead."

* * *

The first elves arrived at night, when it was so dark the light of their torches blinded the elves of Ninniach's settlement. Merilin stood at the gate in the wooden palisade and watched them approach, some thirty-five elves armed with spears and bows, and two children riding a pack horse. After that, more came every day.

The elves of the shadow-wood were different from how she'd imagined elves could ever be. Pale and dark-eyed, they spoke little and laughed less, but when they did their voices were as clear as mountain springs, and the withering trees savoured their presence like they savoured every ray of diminished sunlight. They wore clothes of wool, fur and leather, mostly uncoloured and adorned with simple embroideries and feathers, and the elves of the Mountain in their well-made mail and leather brigandines looked like lords and ladies compared to them. The Mountain elves kept to themselves, wavering between remorse for their people that had fallen so low, and an undecided guilt for something they could not help - to have been born in luxury and not even known it.

At the day of the council, some two days, Merilin thought, before Midwinter, they came together around a large fire - the elves of the shadow-wood on one side, the Mountain elves on the other - in the clearing where once the old hall had stood. It was an ominous place, all in ruins, but practical and relatively easy to defend. The orcs that had attacked the Elvenking were still somewhere in the forest, biding their time or planning something. They had little choice but to be practical.

All morning they talked back and forth and came nowhere. The elves of the shadow-wood were not truly interested in arguing - they had come to hold their own council, to discuss the sudden growth of the Shadow and how to best protect themselves against it, not to listen to these foreign elves talking about mountain halls and moving out. Though they still saw the Elven King and Queen as their sovereigns, they had nothing in common with Merilin and her elves - quiet as the trees, unyielding as the deepest of roots, they had not only survived in the shadow-wood; they had become a part of it.

"We know the Shadow", said an elf with long jet-black braids and twined his fingers together. "We know all its dangers. We have stayed before, and we will stay now."

"You keep claiming that", said Brand impatiently, "but you don't know this new danger."

"Neither do you."

"Perhaps not, but I saw what it did to the Elvenking. The Elvenking! If he could not withstand it..."

"The scouts should not have gone so close to the fortress", said Ninniach calmly. "They disturbed things that should have been left alone."

And so we are back where we begun, Merilin thought wearily. The Mountain elves were running out of arguments, and the elves of the shadow-wood had not yielded one bit. She could not blame them. She remembered the move north after their hall had been burnt down, the hopelessness and the fear and the hardships they had faced, and the question that no one dared to say aloud but that burned in everyone's eyes: how long till we must move again? And how long would it be, she thought, before they had to leave the Mountain? It was safer than any other place they had lived in, but it would matter little in the long run. They would not stay holed up in a cave when the land outside became inhabitable - they needed to hunt somehow, and gather fire-wood and trade with the men of Dale. But if they kept moving, again and again, just like they had before - eventually they would end up in the northern marches, eating worms and frogs to survive. Moving, Merilin thought, was only delaying the inevitable choice: war or submission.

"I do not think you understand", Duneirien said. "We do not ask you to leave your homes here forever. You live where you want, as do we all. But right now there is great danger here, and we cannot yet estimate how great, or exactly what it is. The Shadow is here, yes - but what brought it? As of yet we are blind and vulnerable. Before we know what threat we stand against, and as long as the Elvenking cannot keep the border steady, you are in grave danger out here."

"But if we move", Ninniach said patiently, "what will be left of our homes when we return? It is always easier to hold a place than to retake it. If we leave, we leave forever."

"If you die", said Duneirien, "you will also have left forever."

There was a murmur of protest from the elves of the shadow-wood, the closest they would come to shouting, but Ninniach hushed at them. Duneirien had spoken the truth, though a more diplomatic elf would have worded it differently.

"Many of us has already died for Greenwood", Ninniach said. "I do not see why we should not do it now. Greenwood is Greenwood, and we will not abandon her."

"We do not abandon Greenwood because we leave the place where she is, at the moment, the most dangerous", Duneirien said. "We are of no use to her dead; we must retreat until we know what we are facing, and when we do that..."

"When we do that, we will have nothing to come back to", said the elf with the jet-black braids. "We will be homeless and vulnerable, unless we stay in the Mountain - which is, of course, what you want us to do."

Merilin stood up and went to the edge of the fire-light, turning her back on the others. She knew they were watching her, judging her weak. But they were right, and she had nothing else to say.

At least, she thought, nothing more to make them move. They didn't want to leave this wretched place, not even if if staying meant they would all die - which meant telling them it was dangerous to stay was fruitless. They already knew it. They didn't care.

But she couldn't imagine they all wanted to die. No - there must be something else, something she had overlooked. Of course they wanted to live, anyone would, but the cost was too high. And just what was the cost?

_Submission_ , she thought. That was it. If they moved into the Mountain they followed the same course as the Elven King and Queen had done years ago, as they had done since the Shadow first appeared: leave, not fight - avoid the dangers, not try to stop them. Since the battle of the Last Alliance that had reduced their people to little more than one third than their original size, the wood-elves had avoided war at all costs - but the elves of the shadow-wood no longer wanted to avoid it. It was not this particular place, these settlements and these trees that they wanted to protect so fiercely. They simply did not want to give up.

And they were no longer alone.

"I think I understand you now", she said, turning. "We have come to you with all the wrong expectations, all the wrong words and most importantly, all the wrong intentions. You have fought for yourselves for years. You do not want to give all that up. You do not want to retreat and live in fear as the rest of us had done. Am I right?" Slowly they nodded, their faces pale and vivid in the fire-light. "So, then, what if I told you that the warriors of the Last Alliance had taken up their weapons again by the time we left the Mountains? That after all these years they have decided to pick up the fight? What if I told you that among my soldiers here are many who would rather fight than flee? What if I told you that we _must_ fight, for caution has brought us nowhere, and that is clear to us now as it was to you long ago? What if I tell you - what if I _ask_ you, not to come with us for your safety, but to come with us because together we will be many, and we will be strong?"

Silence followed her words, but it was a silence tinged with emotion. She found every elf in the clearing looking at her, and in their eyes she saw doubt and hope both, and for a moment she wanted to laugh - but then, she thought, war could not be laughed at. It was such a terrible thing to crave, such a terrible thing to unite them. But she had always known, in the back of her mind, that it was the only way. Of course she could never have convinced them of something she had not believed in herself.

"The Mountain is not a refuge", she said. "It is a fortress, a place from whence we can organize our defense and fight back. We have fled for long enough. We will flee no longer." Her voice trembled, but she raised it anyway. "Come with us, and we will go to war."

The elf with the jet-black braids stood up.

"Prove it", he said.

"Prove it?"

"How else shall we know you speak the truth, my lady? Words are but words. They mean little if they aren't put to action. Prove it, and we may follow you."

She went cold. She knew what he wanted. The orcs were still in the forest, and they had her father's crown - the very act of taking it had been meant to humiliate them, and to take it back...

_It's impossible_ , she thought. _We'll die._

"Very well", she said. "I will prove it.

* * *

Dawn broke at last. The wood-elves huddled together by the fire in a mist so thick they could not see further than the edge of the trees. No one spoke but in hushed whispers, a soothing word here and there, an assurance that it would be alright despite their hearts telling them it never would. Not after this. Tinuhen walked between them and made sure to speak to everyone, even those who would not speak to him.

He did not blame them for their anger. It was his fault that Beren now lay still an cold under a blanket, so pale and hollow-eyed he was hardly recognisable as the guard's captain he had once been, shot by five arrows even though the second one had killed him. It was Tinuhen's fault that Tulus lay severely injured, that another elf had lost two fingers - his fault that the wagon was ruined and they would have to split the last of their supplies between themselves - his fault that three horses and several of Radagast's birds and bats were dead - his fault that Laeros had sunk into an apathy so deep they could not get a word from him, and that the healers feared would ruin all the progress he had made until then. The guilt walked beside Tinuhen like a shadow, tugging at his thoughts and gnawing at his heart.

"What is going to happen to us?" he asked, glancing sideways at Hethulin. "What are we to do?"

"What we've always done", she replied quietly. "Go on."

"I do not know if i can."

"It isn't only you, Tinuhen."

He longed so badly for something to hold on to, something to lean on. But she was right. It wasn't all about him. He'd brought them into this, but they would get out of it together. Somehow they would.

A flutter of soft wings startled them both, and Quick-wing swept out of the mist. The sparrow-hawk, apparently, had been sent to warn them, but when he realised the wood-elves would be overwhelmed, he went to find Radagast instead. He was so tired that Tinuhen scooped him up in his arms instead of letting him sit on his arm.

"Ragast says, elf must come. Has found something important in Stair."

"We better go check that out, then."

Hethulin followed him out of the trees and in behind the remains of the wagon. They had to climb over the bulwark of bodies piled up there, and with the stitches in his side still raw Tinuhen could not do it on his own, but Hethulin was there, lending him a hand - of all the elves she seemed the least angry with him, or perhaps she had already been so angry nothing could make things worse. Silently they walked up the blood-slicked stairs.

Radagast stood past the first bend of the Stair, kneeling by the faintly stirring body of a large goblin. When he'd appeared, striding tall and powerful beneath the cloud of birds and bats, with his eyes flaming and his staff held high, the wolves leaping around him and the bear bowing it's head in respect, he'd seemed terrifying like the mightiest of Valar, and the goblins had fled before the very sight of him. Now he was the usual Radagast again, but Tinuhen cold not forget it. He had always thought the Brown Wizard completely powerless compared to Mithrandir or Saruman.

"Is aught wrong?" Hethulin asked, frowning at the goblin. "Why haven't you killed it?"

Radagast straightened. "He was the leader behind the attack. That is - not behind it all. Someone else is working in the shadows. But perhaps he knows who."

Tinuhen handed Quick-wing over to Hethulin and crouched down. The goblin lay on his back, his body twisted and one leg sticking out at an odd angle under him - he must have tried to scale the cliff-walls, but fallen and been trampled by his own soldiers. Dark blood stained his tattered velvet cloak. His lips were drawn back, baring broken teeth.

When he looked at him, Tinuhen could not even feel remorse, only weariness. "If you answer our questions, you will have a quick death. If you do not, we will leave you to die slowly. Do you understand?"

The goblin's mouth worked painstakingly before he croaked: "Such mercy. Very - very fitting for a prince."

"How did - why do you think I am the prince?"

The goblin curled his raw lips into a smile, and his eyes flickered towards Hethulin. "We guessed it. She confirmed it."

Hethulin cursed under her breath. She must have slipped when she came to rescue him, though Tinuhen could not remember it.

"How many of you were there?" he asked.

"Seventy, oh noble prince, and word of your royal presence will spread from here to Mount Gundabad in mere days." The goblin coughed, his face twisted in agony, a tendril of blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. "Ask your questions and leave. You wish to know if you will be attacked again? Of course you will, princeling, and next time we will come for _you_. You wish to know why? Because you are elves and it is our pleasure. You wish to know how long we will let you live before we have mercy on your wretched soul and kill you?"

"I do not", Tinuhen hissed, grabbed the goblin by the collar and hauled him up to his face. "I wish to know who you are working for."

The goblin smiled, blood bubbling up between his lips. He would not, Tinuhen realised, need assistance to gain a quick death.

"You would not know him. Nobody does. He is the Old One."

"The Old One?"

"Aye", the goblin said, his voice surprisingly soft. "That is how we know him. He came to us, told us to gather. We obeyed."

Tinuhen looked up at Hethulin and Radagast, to see if any of them understood. They looked as confused as he felt. The wizard's eyes were narrow slits beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"Why did you follow him?" he asked. "What did he promise you?"

"We - we had to", the goblin whispered. "The Old One always watched, always knew. He would... would have hunted us down to the last yearling if we defied him." He coughed again, clutching his battered chest. "He promised us - to slay the demon twins - curse them and their bright blades - so that we could take the mountains again. He promised that - the goblins would rule..." The goblin's eyes rolled back and he tensed, his back arching. When he parted his lips a stream of blood gushed out, dribbled down his chin and stained the snow red.

"...that the goblins would rule..."

He twisted, struggling to breathe through the blood -

"...after the elves."

Tinuhen straightened. The goblin fell back and lay still. Radagast bent down to close his eyes.

"Ai Elbereth", Hethulin muttered.

Radagast bowed his head. "These are grave news, but not altogether surprising. This Old One, my prince, must be the one behind Tuiw's death, in liege, mayhap, with the sorcerer of Dol Guldur."

Tinuhen nodded, licking his lips.

"We must leave this place quickly - but not through the stairs. The goblins fled that way and they may be desperate enough to attack you again, especially now that you are so weakened. There is another way - the pass above the Gladden Fields. It is not far, and if you leave now, you may reach Rivendell ere Midwinter."

"Beren mentioned that pass", Tinuhen said, "but he said we should not take it."

"I am not surprised that he did. That pass is safer than most, but you will not like it. It is a swift road, but a dark one."

"It is a cave."

"It is."

Hethulin's gaze flittered anxiously from Radagast to Tinuhen. "I will not go through a cave, and I believe I speak for most of us. Not after everything we've gone through. You can't put us through that."

"And the Council?" Tinuhen asked, looking at her.

"Is it truly that important?"

"It is that important."

"Then Radagast can go ahead of us and tell them to move it."

Radagast shook his head. "It is not so easy. They will not move it - at least, I fear, they will be coerced not to. There is... are members of the Council who do not even approve of _my_ presence, and they will not delay it for the sake of someone who is not supposed to be there. You must be there in time, and so you must go through the cave - today, or you will have no chance." He looked at Tinuhen. "After all you have gone through, will you let it be for naught?"

"I... of course not."

"If the others are reluctant, come ahead with me and let them follow at their own pace. As long as you are with me you have no need for a bigger escort."

"Certainly not", Tinuhen said - he knew that now. But he hesitated. Radagast's suggestion sounded sensible, it did. Whatever happens, Tinuhen, get to the Council in time, father had said. Whatever happens.

But father had not know that this would happen.

He glanced at Hethulin. She had objected to their going into the Stair, and he had ignored her. Still she had come back. She had come back for him.

"I cannot leave them", he said. "I cannot, Radagast. I led them into this. If I leave them now, weak and grief-struck, caught up in a place they hate, with little food and no shelter..." He shook his head. "We must talk about this and let everyone say their wish. If they choose not to take the cave, so be it; I shall stay here with them. It is the only way I will have it." He looked at Quick-wing. "I know you are very tired, my friend, but I need to ask you one last thing."

"Anything for elf!"

"Fly back to Rivendell. Find Legolas, or lord Elrond, or Mithrandir or Saruman if they are there. Tell them we are coming, and tell them I wish to attend the Council. Stay away from anyway else, and be careful."

Quick-wing nodded solemnly, spread his wings and flew. Radagast looked after him.

"Are you disappointed?" Tinuhen asked.

The Brown Wizard smiled. "Not at all. You are complicating things, truly, but you are also right. I shall go ahead of you and see what I can do. If we are lucky, they will delay the Council."

"And if they do not", Tinuhen said, "then Greenwood will know it stands alone, and alone we will stand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's far from perfect but I'm immensely happy with how this chapter turned out. I've been dreading writing the action scene since I started posting the story and it turned out so much better than I dared to hope.   
> Legolas will of course return in the next chapter, I didn't want to leave him out but this was the best way to organize the chapter.   
> Thank you for reading! ^u^


	21. A Kestrel, a Hawk and an Owl

They stood on the stair above the courtyard, the elves, the Men, and the White Wizard, shivering in the wind that had picked up from the north. The western sky was flaming red with the setting sun, and above them it was dark and strewn with an ocean of stars. The air was bitter cold. _Aye_ , Hawn had said, _it always gets cold around Midwinter. Right on time this year._

Legolas pulled at the embroidered sleeves of his tunic. He didn't want it to be Midwinter.

As they watched, Glorfindel turned his horse around and rode away across the southern bridge, carrying a torch that sputtered in the wind and made his hair gleam golden in the dark; a moment later lady Arwen spurred her own horse under the northern arch. Hawn had said that usually it was the twins who made the ride, but they no longer wanted to, so Glorfindel and lady Arwen had taken their place. Elladan and Elrohir were watching from the top of the stair, away from the others.

They waited. Glorfindel's torch flickered between the trees down into the valley, while lady Arwen's vanished out of sight only to reappear high on the mountainside, climbing steadily up. The elves and the Men whispered among each other; now and then there was a stifled laugh, the rustle of silk as someone shifting their stance, or the scraping of a boot against the stone steps. The broken silence was bristling with anticipation, and at the same time with the heavy significance of an age-old tradition. They all knew what the fires were for. They would drink and sing and dance all night, but not forget about the darkness until dawn broke.

Legolas wished he could have shared their anticipation, but he could not. It was not only homesickness, even though the traditions of the Noldor made it painfully clear how far away he was from home, but worry - Quick-wing had not returned, and Tinuhen was still out there, spending the longest night of the year somewhere in the mountains where no fire would be enough to keep him safe or warm. Legolas didn't even care about the council. He just wanted his friends to be alright.

"You're brooding again, little one", Hawn said and laid an arm around his shoulders. "Nothing will change because you fret about it. Look - lady Arwen has reached the first fire."

Above them, close to where the northern path trailed out of the valley but not close enough to reveal it, Arwen's torch had come to a halt. They could see her tiny silhouette beside the great pile of fire-wood laid out there, but she would not light it until Glorfindel had reached the furthest fire on his side, and the elf-lord was now somewhere at the bottom of the valley where they could not see him. So they waited and waited as the sun dove into the western sea and it became so cold even the elves complained about it. As evening turned to night, all the outer guards would retreat and join the feast - and that was why the fires were important. For though no one had ever dared to come into the valley, and few knew the way, the fires would serve as their defence, preventing anyone from approaching the House of Elrond unseen. Against the dark the the fires would gleam bright in defiance, a sign to all wicked things that the elves did not fear them.

"And", Arahad had said, "they will serve as a guide to anyone seeking refuge behind our borders tonight. If your father is on his way, he will see them."

_If_ , Legolas thought, but Beren and Tinuhen could just as well sit starving and shivering by the Dimrill Stair, or be stuck up on Caradhras - or be dead. The thought made him feel sick. He wrapped his arms around the knot of fear in his stomach.

At last they could see Glorfindel again, a tiny spot of red between the trees. Yet for a while they waited. Then at last the elf-lord came to a stop, raising his torch in the air and waving it twice, a signal for Arwen to light the fire. There was a pause, the wind howling - then flames blazed up to the north, and a moment later, to the south, rising high and bright to the sky. The elves and the Men cheered and clapped their hands, and some of them spontaneously burst into song, which made almost all the rest fall in with them. They sung all the time that Arwen and Glorfindel, now accompanied by the outer guards, made their way back to the House, lightning the other four fires on the way.

At last Arwen came trotting under the northern arch again, and a little later Glorfindel came riding over the southern bridge. They threw their torches on the great pile of fire-wood below the stair, the flames leapt up, and everyone cheered and clapped again.

"Thus it begins", lord Elrond said: "The longest night of the year. But when it is over we will be going towards longer days, and till then, I bid you all a joyful feast."

"Ah, ye gods", Tilwine mumbled, as everyone broke up and went inside. "I would never have expected to find something this beautiful anywhere in the world."

Hawn chuckled. "Rivendell takes you that way, truly."

"What do you do for Midwinter in Rohan?" Legolas asked, but Tilwine shook his head, and nearly looked as though he might cry.

"I'd rather not talk about it. To think - of my family and friends, having nothing like these mountains to protect them, and nothing like these warriors, and I'm not even there to help! We're alike, you and I", he said, looking down at Legolas with a sad smile. "Both far from home and wondering how our loved ones fare. But this - I cannot help but feel hopeful again after I've seen this."

Legolas wished he could too. Unsure of what to say he asked: "...Aren't you cold?"

"So I am, but Echail has my cloak again." Tilwine gave a laugh. "Silly elf did not think to bring his own. I felt even colder watching him."

Echail, who limped up the stair beside lord Elrond and lady Arwen, was indeed wearing the blue cloak, and he looked very regal in it. He also looked immensely pleased with himself, in a fine tunic with silver embroideries and with an ornamented sword strapped to his waist. He caught Legolas' glance and scowled, then saw Tilwine, flinched, and blushed. Legolas made a face. If only Tilwine wouldn't have smiled back the same half-dazed way.

"Do you know why Echail was injured?" he asked slyly. "Has anyone told you that?"

"Echail told me that, but he would not want to me to - "

"Oh, _I_ already know", Legolas assured him. "I heard it from Elrohir. I was wondering if Echail had told you the full story..."

Tilwine turned to him, looking unusually grave. "Listen, Legolas... I know that you and Echail don't get along, and I know that Echail has not exactly done anything to change that - believe me, I have _tried_ to talk to him. But you do not know him. You cannot judge him solely on what Elrohir has told you, because Elrohir - well, he has his reasons for feeling as he does, but that doesn't mean he's right."

"But..."

"Child", Tilwine said, and for some reason there were tears in his eyes again. "Sometimes people do bad things and they don't mean it. It's not their fault. You cannot judge a man when he has no choice."

He was a horse-thief, Legolas remembered, and stealing horses is a terrible crime. But it was not like losing one's mind in the face of battle and get people killed because of it. Clearly Echail had not told Tilwine the full truth of it.

But then, he may be the traitor, and if so he had good reason to make people like him more than they should.

* * *

The Midwinter feast was as splendid as one might have expected, no less so because Legolas had helped preparing for it. The frosted glass goblets and plates they had so meticulously polished glinted in the light of hundreds of candles, there was enough food to satisfy the Men, and enough wine to make the elves go red about the tip of their ears. Even Elladan and Elrohir seemed to enjoy themselves a little bit, but by the time people began to dance on the tables they hid a couple of wine bottles under their tunics and left.

The rest were about to move to the Hall of Fire when an elf came running up to the dais and whispered something in lord Elrond's ear. Lord Elrond immediately turned grave. Legolas had kept an eye on his through the evening, because he supposed that the council would begin sooner or later and he wanted to know when that happened, and now he saw the elf-lord whisper first to Saruman, then to Glorfindel and Erestor, and finally to the courier to fetch Echail - then they left, slipping out of the room while everyone else went in the other direction to continue feasting. Legolas hesitated, but not for long. He entered the corridor just as the elf-lords and the wizard rounded the far corner; keeping his distance he followed them to the entrance hall, but as they went outside and closed the doors behind them, he did not dare to follow any further. Instead he went back and up a stair to where there was a window overlooking the courtyard.

Pressing his cheek to the cold glass, he saw three riders coming over the southern bridge and into the circle of fire-light. The first was tall and straight, clad in a grey cloak that shifted like the ripples on a moonlit pond, and her golden hair fell loose down to her waist but was held back by a row of diamonds on her brow. The second wore a cloak of dark blue, embroidered with silver thread like sea-foam on great waves, and though he was an elf he had a long, silvery beard, braided and ornamented with little clasps made out of seashells. The third, last and least noticeable, was Gandalf.

He'd finally arrived! Legolas had known he would, though he hadn't always dared to believe it. If only he could talk to Gandalf, everything would be fine - but he had not a second to lose.

He ran back to the entrance hall and out the doors, but the elf-lords and the wizards were no longer there; they must have went inside as quick as nothing. Legolas was about to turn on the doorstep when a loud, urgent shriek caught his attention - at first he thought it was Quick-wing, but the bird that landed on the railing with its yellow eyes fixed on him was a common kestrel.

"Oh - good evening", Legolas said politely. "Did Radagast send you?"

"Did not. Sparrow hawk did. Was going to eat hawk but hawk said, must find little elf, and elf been kind, gave nuts and food, so friend of elf is friend. Still want to eat hawk. But find elf first."

Legolas frowned. Kestrels didn't hunt hawks, they were too big - unless... "Is the sparrow hawk wounded?"

The kestrel nodded, looking rather hungry.

"And he has a message for me?"

"Has. Elf should hurry. Will be dead soon."

"Show me", Legolas said, and the kestrel lifted, leading him around the back of the house and into the garden. He hoped there was time - that the council wasn't about to start - but if Quick-wing was injured and had a message so important he had persuaded a bird that came to eat him to take it, then Legolas could not ignore it.

The kestrel took him to the back of the library, where there was a window on the third floor that led to what was called the astronomy tower, even if it wasn't much of a tower. There was a glass dome on top of it, usually covered, and lord Elrond and Saruman often sat there until far into the night, but now it looked dark. Right below the window, the snow had fallen off a thorny bush that grew by the wall, as if something had fallen on top of the branches and disappeared under them. The snow around it was disturbed, criss-crossed with the kestrel's tracks and the long, sweeping trails of wings flapped desperately against the ground. And there was Quick-wing. The kestrel had dragged him halfway out of the bush, but his wings had caught on the thorns and there were feathers all around - some his own golden-red, some the kernel's light brown. Quick-wing had fought furiously.

Legolas swallowed, crouched down, and picked the little body up. When he pressed it to his chest, he could feel the little heart pick against his own, desperate and faltering. Quick-wing stirred half-heartedly.

"L- ittle... elf..."

"Ssh, don't speak, you'll make it worse. I'll take you to the healing wing, I'm sure -"

"Too late... little elf", Quick-wing whispered, and Legolas believed him. He sank to his knees, holding the sparrow hawk as still as he could to spare him the pain of moving. The kestrel eyed him with its head cocked to the side, but kept its distance.

"How long..."

"No time now", Quick-wing said. "Little elf... listen closely. Elves and Ragast - on way but - will be late. Coming through cave. Don't know when. Little elf must... tell elf-lord. Everything. Understand?"

"Tell him what? I'm not supposed to know - "

"But little elf - does know. Must tell everything. No time for secrets."

"Quick-wing, did the eagle - "

"Tricked... tricked to tell message, then - betrayed..." He shuddered, his voice weakening. "Knows too much... he... is..." His last breath was a desperate attempt to finish the sentence. Blood bubbled up in his beak and he wheezed, gasped, arched his back - and was gone. Legolas sat still for a moment in shock. Then he cradled the battered body to his chest, and he wanted to cry, but no tears came. Quick-wing was right. There was no time.

"Thank you for telling me this", he said to the kestrel and laid Quick-wing down in front of it. "You've been very helpful." He stood up and left, quickly before the kestrel set its beak into its dinner. He knew what to do.

The library was dark, so there was only one place lord Elrond might be - his own parlour. Echail stood outside the door, leaning the wall and looking very bored. When Legolas approached he straightened.

"What are you doing here? Go back to the feast - you have no business..."

"I want to speak to lord Elrond."

"And what it is this time? Another bird?"

Legolas looked at him, calm as a cloudy sky before the storm winds rips it in pieces. He was tired and scared and sad but most of all angry. Quick-wing had died to deliver this message and he would not let Echail stand in the way.

"I don't care what lord Elrond has ordered you", he said. "I have a message for him and he _will_ listen to it, because if you try to stop me -"

Echail threw his head back and laughed. "If I try to stop you, then what? You'll cry for Elladan? Listen -" he leaned forward so fast Legolas didn't have time to back away and grabbed his arm, pulling him close. "Lord Elrond will not be disturbed. This is not like last time - whatever your stupid message is it had to wait, and if you don't shut up and leave I'll carry you away and lock you in your room. _Lord Elrond will not. be. disturbed_. He's got things to do that are more important than anything you could possibly conjure up. No one will bother him - least of all by some insignificant little silvan child..."

"But I'm _not_ that!" Legolas snapped. "I am prince Legolas Thranduillion, son of the Elven King and Queen and you can't carry my away because I _demand_ to speak to lord Elrond!"

Echail was so taken aback that for a moment he only stared. So did Legolas. He'd never meant to say it, least of all to Echail - but there was no way he could take it back. Echail's eyes narrowed. Maybe he'd dismiss it as a lie...

The door opened.

"Legolas?" lord Elrond said. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Echail opened his mouth, got a sharp glance from the elf-lord and closed it again. Legolas bit his lip.

"Uh... I have a message", he said. "From prince Tinuhen. My brother. He's on his way to Rivendell and you need to hear it now or there's no point..."

Someone came to stand in the doorway behind lord Elrond.

"You better come inside, child", Saruman said.

* * *

"Where's Gandalf?" Legolas asked as soon as the door closed behind him. He'd almost expected the Grey Wizard to be there, but apart from lord Elrond and Saruman the room was empty. "Can I talk to him?"

"Mithrandir is resting", Saruman said. He stood by the fire, hands clasped behind his back, and looked kind and not at all angry, as though Legolas' sudden intrusion amused him. Looking at him now, Legolas could not understand how he had been so frightened the first time they met. "He just arrived from a long journey, and is very tired. You may talk to him on the morrow."

"But I - "

"Did you not have a message that was very urgent?"

"I did", Legolas said, glancing at lord Elrond - now that he was here, he did not know where to start. Lord Elrond had looked stern at first, but now he beckoned at Legolas to sit down by the fire and he gave him a small, inward smile as though he was also reluctantly amused. When Legolas did not speak at once, he sighed and said: "My children once tricked me into believing that Elrohir was Elladan and Elladan was Elrohir, and kept the farce up for a whole week until I realised what was wrong. But never has anyone kept me fooled for the most part of a month. The son of Thranduil and Gwiwileth, indeed? I can see it now, and truly, I should have seen it from the start."

"I'm sorry", Legolas said and felt as though he shrunk in the cushioned armchair. "I didn't mean to lie at first but I wasn't allowed to tell the rangers who I was and then Tinuhen said I would keep it secret..."

"Tinuhen said that? Why on earth would he say such a thing?"

"Because there is..." He hesitated, wondering if this was the right time and place to say it, but Quick-wing had said he should tell everything. "Because there's a traitor in Rivendell. We don't know who he is, but he's been trying to hinder us from joining your council - the one that you're going to have tonight. Gandalf wanted us to join it, but first the message was hindered, and Tuiw was killed, and then there were all the things happening on the journey, and I wasn't supposed to say I was here, or that Tinuhen was, because the traitor is in your council and he'd try to stop us. I... I still don't know who it is. I think there's more than one."

A long silence followed upon his words. As soon as he mentioned the council, both Saruman and lord Elrond went completely still and did nothing to interrupt him until he was finished. Legolas shifted uncomfortably. At long last, lord Elrond spoke.

"How much do you know about this council, child?"

"Not - not a lot. They would not tell me much", Legolas said. "I don't think I was supposed to know, but Tinuhen had to tell me that so I would know how important it was that I kept it secret. Because Tinuhen is not supposed to be there, is he? And if you knew he was coming you might try to stop him. So we were going to keep it secret."

For a moment lord Elrond was at a loss for words. He looked at Saruman, who raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"A plot, is it? How intriguing. Tell me, child", Saruman said, "was it Gandalf the Grey who came up with this plan? Was it he who told them about the council?"

"Yes... I think so. But Radagast wanted them to attend it too. He's on his way with Tinuhen now, but they won't be here in time. Quick-wing told me I was to tell you to wait."

"Quick-wing?"

"One of Radagast's birds", lord Elrond explained. "He's been running messages between Legolas and his brother since they got separated. Did he bring me a written message, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head. "I don't think he had one but if he had, it was stolen. He was killed by someone - I found him behind the house, and someone had hurt him badly and he was dying..." His voice caught and he fought to keep it steady. "It was that traitor. I know it was. He's already killed Tuiw and now he's killed Quick-wing too."

Lord Elrond looked very grave. "Those are dire words, Legolas. That someone in Rivendell would be willing to betray Greenwood - and me? But the Council is a most well-kept secret, let be that Mithrandir let it out. Perhaps someone is afraid of an alliance between Rivendell and Greenwood the Great, and have been working to prevent it - perhaps, indeed, from inside our borders. Of course, it must be investigated. Rest assure that if there is indeed a traitor, we will find him."

"And?" Legolas looked from lord Elrond to Saruman, trying to read their faces. "You will wait for Tinuhen and Radagast or what?"

Lord Elrond sighed. "That is a matter for the Coun..."

"No, it's _not!_ It's a matter for Greenwood - we didn't go all this far just for you to send us home again. Tinuhen's been stuck in the mountains for a month! You can't just make all of that for nothing -"

"He and his parents has also been plotting against us for longer than that", lord Elrond reminded him sternly. "And you, Legolas, you have lied not only to me but you all your friends here. I do not think you are in a place to make demands."

Legolas clamped his mouth shut, fuming. He wanted to tell lord Elrond that he knew the elf-lord had been plotting too, but that would require telling him how he knew, which would require telling him about the Greenwood chest and the bottle of wine, which would require telling on Elladan.

"Legolas", lord Elrond said patiently, "you must trust me and Saruman to do what is best for all parties. You have been pulled into something that is far greater and more dangerous than you can imagine, and that should never have been allowed to happen, but you have done what you could and you have done well. From here on I ask that you let me take over. For your own safety I must keep you out of this. Return to the feasting. Echail can..."

Legolas flew up from the chair. He had forgotten about Echail. "Lord Elrond, there's one thing more. I think Echail is the traitor."

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow. Saruman's face became unreadable.

"I - I know you trust him", Legolas said. "But that's the point. If Echail is the traitor that explains why he knows about the council - "

"Legolas, I have noticed that you and Echail doesn't get along..."

"But it's not just that! When we were in Netherford there was a thief - I mean, Arahad thought it was a thief but I think it was Echail - "

Lord Elrond glanced at the door, apparently worried that Echail might hear, and sighed. "While Echail is certainly not an elf of purely good and noble qualities, he is neither a thief nor a traitor. I know him well. He has never been anything but loyal to me."

"Except when lady Celebrían..."

"Child", Saruman said, his voice suddenly sharp. "I think it is time you leave."

There was no arguing with that, Legolas could tell. He got up, slipped out the door and walked quickly away before Echail could think of something mean to say, but all the time he had the feeling he'd left something important behind. Lord Elrond wasn't going to delay the council - he was sure of it, because lord Elrond didn't want Tinuhen there and now he _knew_ he had the power to prevent it. Maybe Legolas had done things worse. Tinuhen would have known what to say, but Legolas had failed him. And all of Greenwood, in the end.

He stopped, turning around. At the far end of the corridor Echail was watching him, arms crossed over his chest. He knew who Legolas was now. If he was the traitor - what would he do? _He'll try to kill me_ , Legolas thought, shuddering - it would be easy, because no one was listening to him anyway. All Echail had to do was follow him to somewhere out of sight...

Panicking, Legolas fled, dashing blindly through the empty house to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. The safety was only imaginary, and he knew it - a wooden door was no protection. If Echail wanted to kill him, he would.

What was he to do? Legolas pressed his back to the door and hid his face in his shaking hands. Fear rose like a tidal wave inside him, blocking out all rational thoughts. Maybe - he could go back to the Hall of Fire, seek refuge among others... but Echail was clever and ruthless, and being surrounded by others had not protected Legolas at the Midwinter market. No, that was no good. He cast aside the thought, then turned back to it, his mind going in circles: Arahad had taken him seriously at the market, but he had seemed to have forgotten it after the goblin cave - and Echail was his friend. Glorfindel? Hardly - he would listen to lord Elrond, as would Erestor. Still, wouldn't the Hall of Fire be safer than here?

Expect he did not know if there was more than one traitor - in which case there might be someone else in there waiting for him...

Legolas sank down on the soft carpet, heart pounding. He felt as though he stood on thin ice and saw cracks spread from under his feet, opening wider and wider, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He'd been so careful, and still it had not helped - he'd tried to be brave, and still everything was lost, and this was not like when he went into the goblin cave - this time he was the one standing in plain sight, and he did not know when or whence the traitor might attack.

There were, of course, the twins. He'd be safe with them, surely, but what about the council? Nobody truly listened to the twins. They weren't reliable like that. So Legolas would be safe, but the council would not be moved. And Tinuhen? Surely Echail would tell the Old One, and maybe the Old One would realise that if one prince was here, the other might be too - and then he'd try to kill Tinuhen as he neared Rivendell and...

The last thought cleared his head. He looked up, trying to calm his racing heart, because now he saw it: Tinuhen and Beren and the others were in danger, and they didn't know it. Legolas was the only one who did. So he must stay calm and save them - it was their only chance.

He stood up and began to pace the room. What he needed to do was to warn Tinuhen, and that as soon as possible, but he must keep in mind the danger he was in too. If he just rushed heedlessly out in search of another bird that could take a message, he would be an easy prey - Echail was probably just waiting for him to go somewhere he could kill him. Maybe the twins would follow him out to look for a bird if he asked them. But Quick-wing had already been killed, and he had been as clever as sparrow hawks come - how would another bird safely get out of Rivendell, fly across the mountains, find Tinuhen in time and deliver him the message when Quick-wing had not been able to? The kestrel would never understand, and Legolas doubted there were many more birds nearby that could do better. And there was not just the traitor, but that black bird too. Legolas had not seen it for a while, but he was certain it was still somewhere around Rivendell, waiting to strike.

But if Legolas could not send a message with a bird - then how? The answer struck him, frightening and obvious at the same time. It was madness, but on the other hand, if Rivendell was not safe then Legolas ought to leave it. The traitor would never expect it. And he was a wood-elf. The wilderness outside the valley was huge. He would never be found.

Legolas stopped in the middle of the room, thinking fast. Quick-wing had mentioned a cave. Hadn't Erestor pointed out that other pass, the one above the Gladden River, on his first lesson? He'd said the wood-elves wouldn't like it, and if it was a cave, that made sense. It had not been too far from Rivendell. If Legolas could find the entrance to that cave he could lay in wait there until Tinuhen showed up. It would be dangerous, of course, and he would have to be very careful. But it was better than cowering here when the traitor knew who he was.

Before he could think too much about it, Legolas set to work. He changed into his own, warm travel-clothes, turned the cloak inside out so the white fur would hide him from view, and strapped on his dagger; it was all that he had, because he did not dare to sneak into the armoury too. Then he pushed the window open and looked out. The courtyard was empty, but the fire still burnt, making it impossible to cross it in the dark. How fortunate, then, that Legolas knew other ways.

He listened a long time for sounds outside the door, then went out and down the corridor to the left, stealing from pillar to pillar through a quiet gallery, then slipping out a door and into the garden. He knew all the places to hide, where all the paths between the hedges led, and from which windows someone might see him. Like a shadow he came around the back of the house, pressed close to the wall as he went past the practise ranges, crossed the herbary and trusted the trees to hide him from the windows of the Hall of Fire, where the feast was still going on as loud as ever. Finally he had rounded the house and in the dark of a waning moon crossed the southern bridge and headed down the path. He passed the first fire and the second without any hindrance. Frost crunched under his feet and his fingers were already stiff, but he did not dare to stop and hesitate. It would become colder, and it would become darker, but he could not turn. From the bottom of the valley he went up and up until he stood beneath the cliffwall...

There, by the last fire, he did stop and turn around.

There was nothing there, but a moment ago he had felt like he was being watched. Had somebody followed him?

He backed out of the fire-light. Except for the crackling of flames and the rustle of wind in the pines it was completely quiet - as though the birds had fled for something, and the mice lay still under the snow. Nothing moved. Legolas held his breath.

A tawny owl called.

He breathed out. The owl was out hunting; it would not have called if something dangerous was nearby. A moment later it landed on a branch behind him, causing a heap of snow to fall down.

"Are you looking for something?"

"Uh - well, I am", Legolas said. "Do you know of a cave that goes through the mountains? I think it should be coming out somewhere nearby."

"It does", said the tawny owl after a moment. "But it is very dangerous for elves to be in the mountains at night. Why would you want to go there?"

"Because my brother will be coming that way and I need to meet him."

"I see", said the owl and tilted its head. It had a soft, very pleasant voice.

"Could you tell me where it is?"

"Could show you. It is not far."

"Would you do that?"

"Perhaps you will do something for me another day."

"Oh, I will!"

The tawny owl spread its wings and flew ahead. It took it mere seconds to reach the top of the cliffwall, of course, while Legolas had to follow at the slow, uncertain pace dictated by the snow and the rocks littered across the path. The owl waited patiently on top. Finally standing on the edge, Legolas allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, and looked back. The House of Elrond looked very small and very homely at a distance, the row of fires still blazing along the path in cheerful rebellion against the dark.

Then he frowned, slowly sinking to the ground. There was someone by the second fire - or more than one. Were they looking for him already?

"Anything wrong?" the tawny owl asked.

"I, uh - yes. I think I'm being followed. I am... you see... I sort of ran away."

The owl thought again. "Go south. I will look who they are and catch up when I know. Be careful!"

"I will! Thank you."

Immensely grateful for having found such a generous companion, Legolas set off. He found a deer-track between the scrawny pine-trees that went more or less in the right direction, and followed it past boulders twice his height and over icy streams cutting like scars through the rocky ground. The winds had whipped snow from the higher slopes and pitted them in dunes down here, so that at some places the path was completely buried, and at others bare. The owl took its time. Not the slightest sound warned Legolas it was coming back, and he jumped when it suddenly landed on a branch nearby, its eyes glowing yellow in the moonlight.

"They are looking after you", it said. "Ten scouts with sharp eyes are coming up the path right now. They'll track you down easily."

"No!

"Do not worry", the owl said softly. "I will take you to the cave. They will not be able to track you there."

"Are you certain?"

The owl could not smile, but it cocked its head in an amused sort of way. "No one knows the mountains as well as the owl, little one. Come now, we must hurry! They will be here any minute."

It was hard to believe lord Elrond had actually sent out scouts after him, but then again, he could not let a prince trusted to his care get in danger. Legolas must follow the owl. It was the only chance he had.

They ran fast, and soon left the forest behind for an open area of boulders and scrawny bushes, sloping up to where the mountains rose high into the dark. A dark crack revealed an opening in the mountainside. Legolas shuddered when he saw it, but the owl took him that way.

"Is that were my brother is?"

"No", the owl said. "Just a safe place. You are not safe here."

"I think I'd be safer down there..."

"You would not. Down there, there is snow. They will track you over snow, no matter how little imprints you make. In the ravine there is stone. They will not track you there."

Legolas bit his lip. "But they will track me _to_ the ravine, and I don't want to go too far in."

The owl circled him impatiently. "I am trying to help! The ravine is not deep, and it is not a dead end. It will lead you out again a little higher up. Out here the wind is strong, it will cover your footprints. They cannot track you here."

"Then must I go into the ravine?"

"Not if you see anywhere else to hide."

Legolas looked around. He saw no such thing. He looked down - and there were shapes moving among the trees. Not ten, but maybe three, or four. He was not certain.

"Lead on", he said and the owl set off, Legolas following as fast as he could. It was hard to walk on the uneven ground, and at some places the snow had melted and then frozen so that it had a layer of ice over it. Legolas slipped several times, and every time he wanted to stay down and hide like a young hare, but the owl made him get up and continue. When he looked over his shoulder, the scouts were still tracking him through the forest.

The mountainside was an almost straight rock, impossible to climb, and the ravine cut through it like an open wound, ragged and twisting.

"Are you sure this place is safe?"

"Positive. It is too close to Rivendell for evil to take root. Look behind you."

Legolas looked. Someone stood on the stone field far below, gesturing at his comrades to follow. That settled the matter. Legolas drew a deep breath and dashed after the owl into the ravine, stumbling over loose rocks and uneven ground. The wind whistled above him, and the ravine twisted and bent and...

And ended.

He stared, shocked, at the wall of stone rising before him.

"You said there'd be no dead end!"

The tawny owl did not even bother to answer. It flew over his head and over the edge and left him standing there, stunned.

_Trapped._

No, not yet. The elves had not come into the ravine - Legolas had been too fast for them, or the tawny owl had overestimated their tracking skills. He turned and ran back the way he had come. When he came to the opening, only one of the scouts stood close enough to see him, and he was still far below. Legolas could not tell who it was; he wore a thick winter coat and a fur hat and boots, and had a scarf over his face to protect from the wind.

He could follow the scouts home without struggle, tell them he thought he might be in danger, and hope that they would take him more seriously this time. If Gandalf had heard that he was gone, maybe he would want to talk to him - to scold him if nothing else. Gandalf would listen. He always did.

Legolas was just about to walk down to them when the scout lifted his bow and put an arrow to the string, aiming straight at him.

That was not right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up two weeks late with a cliffhanger* I'm so sorry guys. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> As you've probably guessed, it's not that many chapters left. We're entering the final stages of the story, moving towards the finale. The story will still be going on for a couple of months more at this rate though. Thank you for staying with me this far :)


	22. The White Council

Legolas had only one chance.

Any moment the other scouts would be there, and he would be surrounded, trapped in the dead-ending ravine, and no speed or cunning in the world could save him from their arrows. But as of yet there was only one, and he hadn't released the arrow yet; maybe he could not aim properly in the dark. It was now or never, Legolas thought. Now or never - his heart beat hard against his ribcage - _now!_

He ducked and ran. An arrow whistled over his head and struck the inner wall of the ravine; another skittered across the ground behind his feet. There was a far-off shout, muffled by the scarf that covered the scout's mouth. He scrambled up the slope from the forest; Legolas went the other way, stumbling from boulder to boulder, from shelter to shelter, keeping low to the ground. He wanted to get down into the forest, but first he had to put a distance between him and the scout, and that meant he had to run south - away from Rivendell. Legolas knew it wasn't a good thing. He just did not know what else to do.

Halfway down he stopped to look over his shoulder. The scout was still far behind him, struggling across the uneven ground; the snow dunes and patches of ice, the loose stones and the stiff and unyielding winter grasses seemed to bother him a lot more than it bothered Legolas. A Man? Or perhaps, Legolas thought, just an elf with a bad leg.

Either way, he could outrun the scout, maybe all the way back to Rivendell - expect there was more than one. The tawny owl had mentioned ten.

But the tawny owl had lied.

An arrow hit the hood of his fur-lined cloak; the pull of it as it went through the fabric nearly brought him off balance. He had been still a moment too long. Before the next arrow found its mark, Legolas turned and ran across the wind-blown slope until, finally, he was in between the trees and the shelter of their evergreen branches. He stumbled on for some twenty steps, all shaky and out of breath, until coming to an uncertain stop. The woods were silent but for the rustle of wind in the outer trees. In the darkness it would be easy to hide.

Maybe he'd got away.

There was a sudden gust of wind, a loud shriek, then pain cutting deep into his scalp. Legolas cried out and brought his arms up over his head. The tawny owl shrieked again, hacking at his arms, its talons tangled into Legolas' hair; then it lifted, wheeled around and came again.

"Little fool!" it said, laughing. "You can't escape!"

Legolas turned to run, but the owl was faster than him and this time it aimed for his eyes. He dropped to his knees, curled into a ball and pulled the hood up over his head, flinging his arms up on top of it to keep it in place. The tawny owl bore down on his unprotected hands. It would tear them to pieces.

Bringing one arm down to cover his eyes, Legolas twisted around, grabbed the owl by its tail and tossed it down into the snow. It wriggled madly, flapping its wings and scattering the blood-soaked snow all around, nearly escaping - Legolas grabbed it again, this time getting hold of a wing, and swung it around, smashing it against a tree. He dropped it; shocked - the owl slid down into the snow with a meek whimper.

Legolas drew his dagger. The owl could no longer hurt him, and he didn't want to hurt it at all, but it suffered and he had to end it. The owl saw him coming and its eyes went wide and wild. It sputtered, snapping its beak as if to prove it could still fight - Legolas would never get near it. In the end he did not have to. The owl's desperate protests drained what little strength it had had left. Within seconds it went still and the sputters died out; its eyes glazed over.

As Legolas watched, blood dripping from the long gashes across his hands, the owl changed. Its feathers became black and shiny, its body larger and slimmer, its beak long and black. It was no longer a tawny owl. Though Legolas had never seen the black bird up close before, he knew what it was.

_Crebain._

And somehow someone had - _enchanted_ it.

Legolas took a stumbling step back, trembling. He had to get back. The owl had delayed him for far too long. He had to -

A hand grabbed the back of his cloak and yanked.

Legolas fell on his back in the snow and felt the air go out of his lungs. There was a shadow, leaning over him with his face dark against the moonlight, and the glint of a dagger. Drawing ice-cold air into his lungs Legolas kicked out and hit the scout's calf with such force he fell to one knee; twisting to the side and pushing himself up, Legolas got to his feet and ran, but strong arms caught him around the waist and pulled him down again. He wriggled madly and his elbow found the scout's chin, forcing out a grunt of pain. Then he was pressed down on his back in the snow, one arm pinned under him and the other caught under the scout's knee; the scout fumbled for the dagger again; Legolas writhed desperately, getting one arm free, reaching up to claw at the pale blue eyes above the scarf...

The scout struck him on the side of his head.

Legolas fell back.

He could not move, could hardly keep his eyes open. He tasted blood.

The dagger caught the moonlight again.

It seemed to hover above his head for an endlessly long time.

Then a shout from far away broke the silence: the scout looked up, and there was a shadow above him - an eagle, a real one, and behind it came another. The scout staggered backwards, covering his face with his arms, and the moonlight fell on Legolas again. For a moment he lay still. Then a furry red tail flicked across his face and a soft and wet nose nudged his cheek. The fox looked at him expectantly. Legolas frowned.

Then he rolled over, groaning, and crawled blindly after the fox with the eagles' calls and the scout's screams ringing in his ears. Hidden under the thick branches of an old spruce, he turned to see the scout still fighting the eagles, and one of the eagles making a daring move - bearing down on the scout's chest there was the sound of ripped cloth, and something golden dropped into the snow. Then he scout with the bow rushed into the clearing. Cursing in a language that Legolas didn't recognize, he grabbed his companion by the arm and pulled him away, and though the eagles took up pursuit they could not hinder the scouts from escaping.

Legolas looked after them until they were gone and the forest was still and quiet again. Then the fox swept by him and into the clearing, and Legolas slowly got to his feet and followed. The moonlight glowed silver on the blood in the snow. He staggered, suddenly dizzy.

Someone emerged from the shadows between the trees and caught him in his arms before his knees buckled.

"My dear boy", Radagast said, "what have you been doing?"

* * *

Radagast's pack was always full of odd things - coloured stones and oddly shaped sticks, leather pouches with dried leaves, hawk-claws and fragile robin's eggs and books about to fall apart, and sometimes some of Gandalf's fireworks, which used to go off by themselves if the pack was handled carelessly - but this time he brought out a roll of linen bandages and a jar with a jellyish salve in it.

"Here, now", he said, and wiped the tears away from Legolas' face with the sleeve of his roughspun robe. "You have to let me go so I can see to your wounds, and I need you to tell me what happened to you. There, that's a good boy. Sit down."

Reluctantly, Legolas pulled back enough for Radagast to brush the snow away from a mossy log and help him sit down on it, pulling the fur cloak tight around him. Then he sat still, trembling, while Radagast pulled the plug from a water skin and poured its content over his hands. It hurt, and he tried to be brave and sit still and keep from crying, but he wanted the wizard to hold him again and he didn't think he could be brave for much longer. He didn't want it to be real - he wanted it to be a bad dream and if it wasn't - no, he didn't want that, he didn't _want_ that.

Legolas swallowed hard and looked down at his hands, but that was a mistake. With the blood washed away, though quickly spilling over again, the deep gashes left by the owl became visible, running criss-cross over his hands, some of them covered with flaps of skin that were sickening to look at. Legolas whimpered and couldn't take his eyes from them.

"Child?" Radagast said. "Keep an eye on the fox for me, I don't want him to run away in case I need him again."

Legolas swallowed again and obediently looked over to the fox, which trotted around the clearing sniffing at the trampled up snow. He kept his gaze fixed on it while Radagast cleaned the wounds on his hands and spread a thick salve over them that felt cold and soothing to the torn skin. It made him feel a bit better.

"And", the wizard said as he began to wrap his hands in layer after layer of bandages, "tell me what you were doing in the mountains."

Legolas drew a deep breath, eyes still on the fox, then slowly began to unwound the tale. In bits and pieces, sometimes so incoherently Radagast had to ask him to repeat himself, he told the wizard about Quick-wing's letter, the dagger in Netherford, Echail and the twins, the bottle of wine and lord Elrond, the kestrel and the tawny owl and his decision to leave. Radagast wasn't angry, not even about the wine. He only listened and nodded, humming now and then to show he understood. By the time Legolas had ran out of words, his hands were neatly wrapped in bandages, the smaller gashes on his head cleaned and covered with salve, and he had another bandage around his forehead. His breathing had become regular again. He thought that if only he could go back to Rivendell and sleep, he would be alright.

"That meeting", he said. "The White Council. They're going to hold it tonight, aren't they?"

"They have probably already begun", Radagast said, leaning close to dab the cuts on his face with a wet cloth.

"Where's Tinuhen?"

"He isn't here yet." Radagast's voice was very soft. He reached into one of his large pockets and brought out a small spider, which scuttled all over his palm until he set it on Legolas' cheek and told it to spin nets over all the little cuts.

"Spider web is healing", he said, "and very strong."

"I know." For whatever reason, Legolas wanted to cry again. He wanted Tinuhen to be there. Radagast was kind and familiar and he smelled of Greenwood - earth and leaves and age - but Legolas wanted Tinuhen to be there.

Though most of all he wanted to go home.

"Dear child", Radagast said and pulled him close, careful not to crush the spider. "Dear child... you've been very brave, do you realise that? And it is all over now. It is all over."

"No it's not", Legolas whispered against his shoulder. "It's not over until everyone's here and they're safe. They're going to be safe, aren't they?" he asked, pulling back. "Quick-wing said there were goblins..."

Radagast hesitated, then stroke his cheek. "We need to get you back to Rivendell. And I must think. There is still the Council."

Legolas wanted to ask more, but he knew better than to disturb a wizard when he's thinking, so he sat silent on the log while the spider walked over his cheeks and nose, lightly so it did not hurt. The fox jumped up on the log and curled up beside him, his body was warm against Legolas' leg. The windblown pines were calm and whispered soothingly with their evergreen branches, their shadows shifting over the snow in a mild breeze.

And there, glinting in the moonlight, was that golden thing that the eagle had ripped from the scout's cloak. Legolas stood up on unsteady feet and walked over.

It was a large golden brooch, round and decorated with a pattern of knots, and he remembered it, but could not tell from where - though it made him think of Echail and his arrogant smile, dark hair touched by a gust of wind, cheeks red from the cold. Legolas turned it over in his hand. It was very heavy.

"I've been thinking", Radagast said, and Legolas fastened the brooch to the inside of his cloak and walked back. He sat down again, picking the fox into his arms, while Radagast plucked the spider away from his shoulder.

"Thank you for helping me", Legolas said to it. "I promise I'll never stomp on any of your cousins ever again."

The spider stiffened, shocked, and didn't seem to know what to make of that. Radagast put it back into its pocket.

"Now", he said. "We must act swiftly. From what you have told me I assume the Council is being held at this moment, and they will not be willing to put it off until Tinuhen has arrived - it would be dangerous to leave so much unfinished, and many of its participants will be eager to return home as soon as possible. Tinuhen will of course be allowed to talk before those that are left once he arrives, which will put your parents in a situation they do not like - they will know nothing of the Council's business, but the Council will know a lot about theirs, and most importantly the decision as to wether they should be allowed to join the Council or not is still out of their hands."

"Is this Council really supposed to be good?"

"It is", Radagast said with a sad smile, "but we are dealing with very wise and mighty people - they know too much and have seen too much to trust anyone but themselves. Sometimes it is a difficult thing to do both what is right and what is wisest in the end. You will understand that when you are a little older. But perhaps we can show them a thing or two about thinking you know better than everyone else."

"How?"

The wizard's smile had a hint of mischief now. "I have the right to come storming halfway into the Council and demand to join, and I can speak for Greenwood, of course, but not for the elves. And naught of what I have told the Council before has had much effect. They do not believe me - and I am not certain they will believe anyone else either - but with a representative of the wood-elves present they can hardly ignore it anymore. Moreover, if an elf of Greenwood has once been to the Council, they will have little choice but to let you in a second time, because you will know too much to be slighted."

"But Tinuhen's not here yet!"

"No", said Radagast slowly, "he is not."

"Then there's nothing we can do."

"I believe there is."

Legolas stared blankly for a moment, then gasped. "You don't _mean_ that. I'll never - I can't - "

Radagast calmly rolled up the remaining bandages and stuffed them into one of his saddle bags. "You are a prince of Greenwood the Great", he said. "The son of the Elven King and Queen. You have seen the Shadow, you have seen the goblins - you have even seen the Old One. All the other elves need you. What makes you think you can't?"

"I don't know how to speak in Councils", Legolas said and felt very small.

Radagast smiled and bent down until he could meet Legolas' gaze. His eyes were green and shifting, like moss under wind-stirred branches. "I would not ask this of you if I did not think you could do it. You know what needs to be said. You know what Greenwood needs. All you need to do is be honest."

Legolas fingered on the bandages on his hands. "I'll try then."

"That's the spirit." Radagast wrapped his arms around Legolas and lifted him, cloak and all,into the saddle, then swung himself up behind him. "No time to lose now. The White Council awaits!"

* * *

"What is this, Radagast?" Echail asked and took half a step to the side to block the door. Of the two doors at the back of the library, this wasn't the one that led to the map room where Erestor had had his first lesson, but the other one, that was usually locked.

"It is at it should be", Radagast said. "Let us in."

"But..."

Radagast looked at him sharply under bushy eyebrows, and Echail stiffened and stepped aside again, opening the door for them. Behind it was a broad spiral staircase. Radagast took Legolas by the arm and led him up the steps, walking slowly so that Legolas, stumbling on each step because his feet were so heavy, would manage all the way to the second door on top. Radagast gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before opening the second door. Legolas swallowed and stepped inside.

The sky opened above his head and he thought for a moment that he stood on a balcony; but it was only the glass dome above the astronomy tower, with the curtains pulled to the side. The room was large and circular, sparsely furnished but for a large round table in the middle, and around the table sat the White Council - all turning grave eyes towards the door. The silence that fell was tense.

"Radagast!" lord Elrond said, rising from his high-backed chair. "We did not expect..." His gaze fell on Legolas, who took a step to the side until he stood behind Radagast, feeling smaller than a squirrel in the palm of a dragon. The elf-lord paled. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning?" Radagast asked. "That is just what I would ask you - what is the meaning of holding council before all its participants has arrived? But I am here now, and I bring another participant with me. Prince Legolas Thranduillion is here to speak for Greenwood the Great."

There went a shiver through the room; the elf-lords and the wizards exchanging glances. Saruman gripped his staff so hard with one hand his knuckles whitened. Glorfindel and Erestor stared first at Legolas, then at each other, as if to confirm that the other had heard the same thing. The elf-lord with the white beard - it must be Círdan, oldest of the old and wisest of the wise - tilted his head to the side so the seashells clattered against each other. Lady Galadriel half-turned; she stood a bit away from the round table as though she had been looking at the stars, and they were still visible in her eyes. And there was Gandalf. In his tattered hat and ragged grey robes he looked very much out of place - more so than Saruman who had the air of an elf-lord if not the look, but not as much as Radagast. Gandalf was quiet, but his eyes were glittering under the brim of his hat.

"I had the impression this was _not_ the prince of Greenwood", Glorfindel said. "Mostly because he said so himself."

Radagast sighed. "He..."

"He is hurt", Erestor said, standing up. "He must be taken to the healing ward - what has happened?"

"Indeed, he must", said Saruman. "Radagast, what on earth made you bring the child here when he is clearly in need of rest and comfort? Not to mention you knew we would be holding council - whatever he has to say must wait until..."

"I am afraid, Saruman, it cannot wait", Radagast said, his voice darker than usual. "Legolas is the only representative of Greenwood present..."

"Because Greenwood is not represented among us! They ought not even to know -"

"But they do", Gandalf said, "because I told them this summer."

Saruman twirled around in his chair to glare at him. "And what gave you the right to do that?"

Legolas leaned against Radagast's side. If only the Council would stop quarrelling and let him speak so he could go to sleep. But for a long while they argued back and forth about Tinuhen and Greenwood and why Gandalf had told the Elven King and Queen and never once did they ask Legolas what it was he had to say. Radagast leaned wearily on his staff. What had he expected, anyway? Legolas was just a child. Maybe he should tell the Council they were right and he shouldn't be there and it would be better if he went to bed.

But he had to speak. For Greenwood. He had promised.

"If only this had not been done behind our backs", Saruman said and sounded like the parent of a disobedient child who isn't angry, just disappointed to be failed again. "If we had known prince Tinuhen was on his way, we might have let him speak - at least we could have planned for his arrival better. But we knew nothing. You _told_ us nothing, Gandalf Grey, nor you, Radagast Brown. What does this say about the trust within the Council?"

Legolas looked up at him, opening his mouth to say that the wizard had indeed known, Legolas had told him himself - but lord Elrond caught his gaze and slowly, almost unnoticeably shook his head. Legolas hesitated. But lord Elrond looked so worried and ashamed that suddenly he understood... something, at least. Maybe lord Elrond did not want to lie, but in this circle of mighty and wise lords and ladies and wizards - slow to trust and swift to judge, careful and cunning and ambitious, all with their own interests to mind, all with their own ideas of what was good and right - he had no choice. If Saruman had decided that they had never been told Tinuhen was coming, maybe lord Elrond could not speak against him, not in public and not in the Council. Maybe he was too tangled in the webs of politics he could do little on his own.

Webs, Legolas thought. Wherever he turned there were webs - real ones like those in Greenwood, but also those that the traitor had thrown out over the mountains, trapping his friends, and through which he had only barely escaped, and the webs of secrets that the Council was made out of, that kept his parents out. And somewhere in the middle was the Old One, still hidden from sight, like a spider holding all the threads and pulling at them however he wished.

Lord Elrond released his gaze and spoke, his voice calm but firm.

"We cannot sit here arguing back and forth and while Legolas waits for our decision", he said. "Who has done wrong and why and how are questions that must be left for later. As for now we must decide what to do with Radagast's proposal."

Saruman hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "True spoken. The matter at hand, I believe, is whether Greenwood has a right or not to..."

"If I may", Glorfindel said, "I do not think we should focus too much on that word. Has the Elven King and Queen a right to attend our Council? Well, perhaps they have not? Our intention was never to include every kingdom or realm of the free peoples in Middle Earth. But Legolas is not here to claim his right but to beg for help, is that not so?"

"Truly", Erestor said, "the wood-elves have long tried to defend themselves, but they have not succeeded. It is our duty to help them."

Lord Elrond looked thoughtful. "If Greenwood needs our help, they shall have it, of course. I have waited long for them to overcome their pride and ask for hit. Still, there would be no need for them to ask for it at the White Council. Tell me, Radagast - it is not only help they want, is it?"

"But perhaps it is all they will have", said Círdan. "Great powers are at work, and we must be careful, as we always have. The child should never have been told of the Council. That alone is an indication that our Greenwood cousins do not understand the severity of the situation, nor the importance of secrecy. They will have our help, but must they have a place in the Council to receive it?"

"Ask rather if they must have a place in the Council to accept it", Gandalf said. "For that, I am afraid, they do. And ask what they can give us, instead of only what they want to give - what knowledge they have that can be of use to us..."

Saruman raised an eyebrow. "I ask that then, Gandalf. What knowledge do they have that can be of use to us? What does the sickness of some trees have in common with the powers with which we are concerned?"

Radagast opened his mouth to answer, and Saruman went on as if he had only waited for that: "Yes, Radagast, you have told us of your beliefs about the Shadow and the sorcerer of Dol Guldur, yet the Council has deemed them unlikely. The sorcerer is a man, naught more - his real power is insignificant. Do not tell me you have persuaded the wood-elves to believe?"

Legolas lifted his head and looked from Saruman to the others, meeting only stony, unbending faces. He had not understood just how little the Council knew about the Shadow. To think it was a sickness - but to them it was only a rumour, while to the wood-elves it was real.

He looked down, watching the snow melt in fine runnels from his shoes and down on the floor. His hands were aching again. He had went this far, through the Shadow and over the plains and the mountains - he had almost been killed in Netherford and then again just now - Quick-wing had died, Tuiw had died - all to get here, to this place, to this Council. They had suffered so much and the Council had no right to stop them on the threshold. And Legolas had promised father to help.

Someone in the Council had wanted to stop him.

Legolas could not let them win.

"I - I want to say something", he said, and when nobody heard he shouted: "Hey!"

That shut them up.

Legolas took a step forward. It had felt safe to stand behind Radagast and let him talk, but where had playing safe every got him? It had not brought him the bottle of Dorwinion wine, and it had never made him a friend of the twins.

"I know I'm not supposed to be here", he said. "And not my parent either. But now I _am_ here and I have something to say and it's important. Tinuhen didn't only come here to ask for help. There's something you need to know, and you better listen, because I am after all the son of the only Elven King and Queen in Middle Earth." He looked mostly at Gandalf while he spoke, because the wizard he wasn't afraid of, but he knew that all of the Council was watching him. They were silent even when he paused to search for words.

"The Shadow", he said, "isn't a sickness at all. We don't know what it is but it has changed the forest more than a sickness could. It makes the trees black and twisted and the water bad and even the animals are... wrong. There are spiders - we didn't see them but we saw the webs... they're bigger than dogs, and there's lots of them. A sickness could not have done all that. It's... sorcery, or something like that, and it's very powerful. Not even my father can keep it away." He paused again. Lady Galadriel turned completely, looked straight at him, and he saw the stars deep in her eyes. He felt that she understood. She only waited for him to go on.

"This summer", he said, "my father sent scouts to the old fortress..."

"Dol Guldur?" Saruman interrupted him. "What madness possessed your father to send anyone near that place?"

"You said yourself the one who lives there is just a man", Legolas said. In the corner of his eye, he thought he caught Gandalf smiling into his beard. "But he isn't. Only one of the scouts that were sent away came back and he's - he's not... It was Laeros", he said, turning to lord Elrond. "He is on his way with Tinuhen because my parents hoped that you could heal him so he could tell us what he saw in Dol Guldur. He hasn't been able to say anything yet, but we know it must be terrible. And..." He hesitated again. There was so much that needed to be said, and he was so very tired - and he felt as though he balanced on the edge of a knife. He didn't dare to accuse anyone of being the traitor, but at the same time he knew he must tell them everything. Radagast gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Then Legolas took a deep breath and told the Council about Laeros - how he'd been found by the elves of the shadow-wood, stumbling blindly into one of their settlements and screaming at their fire, how he'd been brought to the Elvenking's Halls and fought against everyone who got near him, how eventually he'd calmed down but instead retreated within himself so that no one could get a word from him - and about Tuiw - the arrows in his back, the satchel with the message - and the avalanche; then, choosing his words carefully, about the black bird, the dagger in Netherford, the goblins and their two visitors, and finally the tawny owl and the scouts that had waited for him when he left Rivendell. It felt as though he spoke for hours. Towards the end he stumbled so many times over the words that Radagast, who had heard the story before, had to clarify some things. No one spoke when he finally trailed off, and then he remembered there was one thing more.

He looked at Radagast. "My father... you know more about him than I do, right?"

"Thranduil?" lord Elrond asked. "Has something happened to him?"

Radagast sighed. "It has, and I do. It is just as well you get to hear it now, little one." The Council fell silent again and Legolas trembled beside him, burying his face in his roughspun robe, when Radagast told them about how father had been attacked in the forest, and how he had been injured badly and Radagast hadn't been able to do much even after staying with him for many days - and then he told them about a blade, a blade that dissipated like smoke when mother touched it, leaving only a silver hilt adorned with a black jewel that seemed to eat all light that fell on it.

"Perhaps", he said sternly, "you will believe me now when I say that the sorcerer of Dol Guldur is no ordinary man."

The White Council was quiet for a long time. Lady Galadriel, calm as ever, furrowed her brow.

"These are grave tidings", she said quietly. "I should not say news, as you have known it for a long time, Radagast." Legolas had a feeling she was not very surprised. Father had never liked lady Galadriel, but Gandalf did, and maybe she had listened to him even if the Council had not. After a moment she lifted her head as though to clear it. "We have much to discuss, but we must do so in privacy. Legolas, is there anything else you have to tell us?"

"No... yes", Legolas said. "There was one thing more. When we rode through the shadow-wood we met some of the elves who lived there and one of them - Ninniach - told me that... she thought she knew why the Shadow came and why it doesn't spread outside the forest. She thought it was not made by the sorcerer, but by Greenwood herself, as a way of protection against it. That maybe the sorcerer would have made the forest fair, but the forest made itself ugly instead so everyone would be warned. So the spiders and the orcs are there but they don't own the forest. That was just what Ninniach thought though."

"I have heard it too", Radagast said. "Ninniach is a very wise woman."

"Anyway", said Legolas, "that means that... that the Shadow can't be cured. It won't go away until the sorcerer does. So that's what... that's what needs to happen."

Lady Galadriel nodded slowly. Gandalf looked pleased - the rest of the Council mostly thoughtful, as if they did not yet know what to think, but at least they had listened. Legolas didn't think there was anything more he could do.

"My parents", he said. "Next time you have council, will you invite them?"

"That", said lord Elrond, "is a matter of outmost secrecy. However..." He hesitated, then smiled faintly as though thinking that, in the end, there was nothing he could do but accept the turn of things, and maybe he wasn't only disappointed. "It appears we will have no peace or quiet before Greenwood has their way, and I know better than trying to out-stubborn your parents. We shall see. But you may be assured, Legolas, that we will not ignore what you have told us, and we will do anything in our power to help you."

"And so we will", said Gandalf with a firmness that dared anyone to try and ignore it. He looked at Legolas, smiling so proudly that for a moment it seemed that he would cry. "You have done well, little one - much more than anyone could have expected of you. The rest you can leave to us. I believe what you need now is to sleep."

Radagast nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. "I think we should get you to the healing ward. They can give you something to ease the pain if you need it - and you will not have to sleep alone."

"Yes, I think that would be best", Saruman said. "But I would not gladly delay our discussions yet again. Let Echail take him to the healing ward, Radagast. We can be without him for a while."

Legolas swallowed. He hadn't told them about Echail, and he doubted they would believe him. It was obvious that Echail hadn't been in the mountains anyway. "I - I'll find the way myself. Thank you."

* * *

The helmet of Legolas of Gondolin glinted dully on its pedestal. The shards of the broken sword caught the moonlight and scattered it across the room and over the smooth marble floor; the painting behind it was half in light, half in shadows. A tapetsry billowed, so it seemed the skillfully woven horses moved, and the banners of their riders rippled and snapped in the silk-thread air.

Legolas sank down on the edge of a bench and sat there for a long while, shivering despite the fur cloak tugged tight around him. The way to the healing ward felt impossibly long, and besides, he didn't really want to go there. He was certain they would give him something to sleep, and though he wanted desperately to sleep he didn't dare to. If he fell asleep he would be helpless. He never wanted to be helpless again.

Longing for something to take his mind off the ache beneath all the bandages, he unclasped the gold brooch from the inside of his cloak and let it lay in his palm, tilting it so the moonlight moved over the intricate pattern. He still could not figure out where he had seen it before. It didn't look elven, but Echail still came to mind... Some memory tugged at the back of his mind but he was too tired to think.

Someone called his name from the far end of the corridor, and Legolas flew up, his heart tightening in fear - but it was Tilwine, coming around the corner with Scead one step behind him. They wore thick cloaks and gloves and Scead had snow all the way up to his knees. They must have been outside for - some reason...

"Legolas", Tilwine said, grinning from ear to ear as though he'd just left the feasting and wasn't entirely sober. "What are you doing here? Is the Hall of Fire too noisy for you?"

"Here", Scead said, brushing past him with a concerned frown, "what has happened? Are you injured?"

Legolas swallowed. Scead walked up to him and swept him into his arms, and suddenly he had tears burning in his eyes again and he was so heavy, so heavy he couldn't stand on his own.

"How did this happen?"

Legolas did not know how to answer. "I, uh... it's nothing. I can't tell you. I don't... I don't know."

"It's all right. Hey, don't worry, it's fine."

"Have you been to the healers?" Tilwine asked, taking his bandaged hands. "What did they tell you?"

Legolas blinked; he could barely keep his eyes open. "I didn't..."

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That brooch", Tilwine said. "Where did you find it?"

"In the mountains", Legolas replied and turned it over in his hands so it caught the light. "I was... I met..." He did not know how to explain, so he did not. "I don't know why I kept it, but somehow I recognised it." He looked up at Tilwine, who smiled down on him, but something about the way he stood had gone tense. Scead's grip around him tightened. Legolas felt cold spread from his chest and outwards. "Like I... like I had seen it before."

And as he looked from the man to the brooch again, he knew where, and why he had not recognised it earlier. That was because he was not used to seeing it alone.

Its twin was still fastened to the collar of Tilwine's cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN
> 
> So sorry for the lack of updates guys. I've been so drained and out of inspiration :/ I will try my best not to leave you waiting for too long. Thank you for your patience 3


	23. The Eagle Strikes

Legolas woke, groaning with pain, when strong arms lifted him into a saddle and tied his hands together. He was disoriented at first, but it smelled like hay and horses and Marigold whinnied anxiously when he dug his fingers into her mane. The stables, he thought. Why was he in the stables?

"He's awake", a rough voice whispered beside him. "Should I -"

"No, it'll be easier to keep him in the saddle." Scead's voice came from further away. "Just gag him, that'll be enough."

Legolas cracked one eye open and saw Tilwine rummage through his leather bag. It was Tilwine who had hit him, he thought. He couldn't remember exactly when or how that had happened, but that must be why he was in the stables and why his head hurt so much. Tilwine had hit him unconscious and they had carried him in here and now, he supposed, they were going to take him somewhere.

Legolas made a weak attempt to jerk his head away when a filthy piece of cloth was stuffed into his mouth, but Tilwine held his jaw so hard it hurt and forced him to keep still, and then he tied another rag over the first and around Legolas' head. Legolas could hardly make a sound through it. For a moment he panicked, feeling as though he couldn't breathe, but when he remembered to breathe through his nose it went easier.

"One attempt to escape", Tilwine said, "and I'll strike you unconscios again. Is that clear?"

Legolas looked at him wide-eyed. Gone was the kind and generous Tilwine that had laughed and jested and sparred with the elves and given Echail his cloak when they rode to Netherford. The Tilwine that stood before him now in the dark stables was hollow-eyed and grim. Scead, who stood by the doors with two other horses, was no better. Looking at him now, Legolas remembered the Old One's companion in the goblin cave - he had thought his hair had been brown like Echail's, but it could have been Scead's dark blond too.

" _Is that clear?_ " Tilwine repeated, and Legolas nodded meekly, too frightened to refuse to answer.

"Good. And do not forget it."

He took Marigold's reins and led her to the door, and the rolling motion almost made Legolas go sick over the side of her neck; he was still dizzy from the blog to his head. He clung to her mane, shut his eyes tight and pretended it was all a bad dream.

It had to be.

"I still think this is too risky", Tilwine hissed when Scead pushed the doors open. The courtyard was half in shadow, and clouds covered the moon by now, but the great fire still burnt and lit up the open area before the front doors. "We should kill him and be off with it."

Legolas drew a panicked breath through the gag, turning to stare at him, and Tilwine curved his lips into a mockery of a smile - all but a smile, really, lacking even a hint of scorn. He couldn't be a murderer, Legolas thought. Not Tilwine, and not Scead either. Not truly. They would never do such a thing. They were...

They were horse-thieves, he remembered. Desperate and dangerous.

"And how long until they find him?" Scead asked, peering into the faint fire-light. "Rivendell isn't big, and he's got all those birds for his friends. They'd find him and it wouldn't be long until they found us too."

Someone would come and save him.

But as they left the stables, the Men mounting their horses and Scead taking Marigold's reins, they heard the singing and laughter coming from the Hall of Fire and Legolas realised that everyone should still be there, and most of them would be too drunk to notice that some were missing. There were no guards out. No one would see them leave.

His heart seemed to swell, threatening to break out of his rib cage. This time Radagast was at the Council and Tinuhen wouldn't be coming yet and Quick-wing was dead - soon they rode over the southern bridge and into the dark trees, and the house was behind them and no one had seen it. No one was coming. Legolas was helpless and utterly alone.

At least it seemed so for a long time. They rode slowly, for the horses were anxious and the Men hadn't brought any torches, and when they passed the fire at the bottom of the valley there was a shout behind them. Scead swore. A figure came limping out of the dark, sword in hand.

"Tilwine?" Echail said, his voice shrill with something between disbelief and shock. Without horse or cloak or his usual arrogance, he looked very small, and he leaned very heavily on his good leg. "What is happening?"

Tilwine swallowed and turned to Scead.

"Kill him", Scead muttered, his voice low.

"Answer me, Tilwine!"

"How - how did you know we had gone?" Tilwine asked, licking dry lips. "We thought no one had..."

"Radagast asked me to make sure Legolas went to the healing ward", Echail replied. "I could not find him anywhere. I saw the stable doors stood open and thought he had run away again, but..." His eyes sought Legolas', and behind the concern in them there was also reassurance, as though he was telling him it was going to be fine now. "I see that was not the case. Tell me, Tilwine..."

" _Kill him_ ", Scead hissed again. His voice was turning shrill as well. Tilwine looked from one to the other, and he was very pale.

"Echail, this - it isn't what it..."

"Not what it looks like? You think I'll believe that?" Echail's voice cracked suddenly, and now tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "You don't think I understand? The child has been talking about a traitor all the time and everyone knew - everyone knew something was going on with the goblins and the wood-elves - and I never thought, I never thought it could be you because why would you -"

"I'd never..."

"I _trusted_ you!" Echail cried. "I trusted you, and I thought - I thought - " He trailed off, and silence fell, and it begun to snow quietly like a sigh between them. Scead looked at Tilwine, and Tilwine at his hands. It occurred to Legolas he might be able to escape - Scead held Marigold's reins but surely he would not expect it if Legolas snatched them from him - but before he could make up his mind, Echail spoke again.

"Listen", he said, calmer now, "there are two ways we can end this. You can come with me back to the House and everything will be sorted out. Lord Elrond will hear you out and we will protect you from whoever you are working for and you will be forgiven."

Tilwine looked up at that, something hopeful in his eyes, and began to say something. Scead silenced him with a glance.

"Or", Echail went on, "you can ride away, and I will raise the alarm, and you will be caught anyway. You will not outrun the elves in the mountains, no matter your head start."

Scead snorted. "What do you know about that, elf? Lord Elrond is nothing against the one we work for. But we do not plan on being your prisoners for the rest of our lives."

"You would not..."

"Guests, then, whatever you wish to call it. But I hardly think Glorfindel would let us ride to Netherford again after we tried to steal the precious prince of Mirkwood. We would be your prisoners whether you admitted it or not." He spat, then tossed Marigold's reins to Tilwine and urged his horse closer to Echail. His hand sought the hilt of a sword that had been hidden under his cloak. Echail raised his own blade.

Scead laughed. "You plan on crossing swords with me, Echail? Such courage. You surprise me."

"If there is no other way, then yes, but it doesn't have to end -"

"It will end in one out of two ways", Scead said. "Either you stand still and let me kill you, or you run and force me to hunt you down. Frankly, I expected the latter. It seems to me more in your style."

"I wouldn't -"

"You wouldn't? But you already have. Everybody knows that. You are a coward at heart, Echail - but if you wish to prove me wrong by a honourable death, then by all means. It will make everything easier for me."

It was like Elrohir had said then, Legolas thought - that Echail had been supposed to protect lady Celebrían, but he had failed. And he had told Tilwine about it, because he'd trusted him, and Tilwine in turn had told Scead.

Scead did not ride close enough for Echail to reach his horse - maybe he was afraid that Echail would harm it to prevent his escape. Instead he slid from its back, tossed his cloak back and drew the sword. Echail took a step back but raised his own.

"I will not let you harm the child", he said, his voice quavering only a little. "I will fight you if I must, but there is another way. Please, Scead, it is no use."

Scead smiled. "I knew you would beg."

He raised the sword and swung it - a swift, sudden move that Echail, who still seemed to have hoped for another outcome, hardly had time to block. Their swords flashed in the firelight as they met. Scead did not pause but swung again, feinting a low blow then changing course, and Echail's eyes widened in shock when the sword rang into his own, sending him stumbling backwards. He had little time to recover. Scead seemed determined not to give him the opportunity to fight back, but let blow after blow rain onto Echail's sword, furiously forcing him to back and back again until it could be only a matter of seconds before he lost balance. This was nothing like Tilwine's clumsy swordplay or Glorfindel's gracefulness; ruthless and deadly, Scead reminded Legolas of the twins. He'd lied when he said he was no warrior - but then, he had lied all the time.

But though Echail rapidly lost ground, he did not beg the man to stop again. His face was set with determination. The ground was too uneven for him to defend himself like he had done in the practise range against Tilwine, but nevertheless Scead could not get past his sword, and it was Echail who drew the first few drops of blood by slashing the man across his wrist. It only made Scead angry, though. It was as though he knew exactly how to take advantage of Echail's bad leg - but then he had been watching Tilwine and the elves spar day after day after day, Legolas remembered. Maybe he had done so, pretending not to be able to participate, only so that if one day he was put up against any of the elves, he would be prepared.

But it was difficult to imagine - that ever since the Men arrived in Rivendell, that day when Legolas and the twins met them in the forest, when Scead was sick and Tilwine begged them to save his life, they had been planning against them. That when Scead found him in the Hall of Artefacts, and all those times he was kind and understanding - and that time he helped Legolas steal the bottle of wine, that was just to be his friend, to make sure Legolas didn't doubt him - and Legolas had fallen right into the trap. He had even suspected Echail instead. Scead must have laughed at him so much.

And now Scead was going to kill him, once he had killed Echail.

Without thinking, Legolas jerked Marigold's reins out of Tilwine's hands and kicked his heels in her sides, setting her galloping towards the house. He caught a brief glimpse of relief spreading across Echail's face - but Scead saw his distraction and acted fast; grabbing a fistful of Echail's hair and pulling hard, he sent the elf stumbling into the path of Marigold's escape. Marigold reared, panicking, and there was a thud - and another, and Echail slid to the ground, the sword spinning out of his motionless hand, blood pooling in the snow beneath his head. He didn't move again.

Scead grabbed Marigold's bridle and jerked her head down to keep her still. Then he slapped Legolas across the face so hard he reeled in the saddle. "Well done, little one", he said. "I'm sure Echail will be impressed with your efforts when you meet him wherever elves go when they die."

"What now?" Tilwine asked. "We can't take them both with us. If they're already looking for the elfling, shouldn't we just kill him and run for it?"

Legolas made a strangled sound through the gag that made Scead sneer at him, but then he shook his head. "If he's really a friend of all the beasts of Rivendell - " he sounded sceptical to the idea, but not enough to dismiss it - "then we should get him as far away from there as possible. Last thing we want is for some fox or other to find him and warn Radagast. It didn't sound to me like anyone but Echail was looking for him yet and our tracks will be covered before they get here, so we should still have some time."

Would a fox have recognised him? Legolas wondered. And would it have known to warm Radagast? He doubted the latter - but maybe there would be birds that could understand what was happening. If only he had a chance to tell them...

Scead sheathed his sword and mounted, then glanced back at Echail and frowned. "Tilwine, check on him. I want to be certain he's dead."

"He looks dead to me."

"Well, make sure he _is_."

Tilwine jumped down and walked slowly over. Echail lay in a heap where Marigold had struck him down, and the snow had turned pink by now in a large circle around his head - but Legolas could see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It seemed in the dark, Scead could not see it.

Tilwine knelt beside the elf and pressed a finger to the side of his throat.

"None of that, you fool!" Scead snapped. "Just slit his throat and be done with it."

"He's dead, Scead", Tilwine replied, his voice flat. Behind him, Echail's chest was still rising and falling ever so lightly. He had to know. And yet...

"I said slit his throat."

"And I said he's _dead._ " Maybe it was the was his voice almost cracked that convinced Scead Tilwine spoke the truth, for he asked no more. But Echail was still breathing, and Tilwine had to know it. He hooked his arms under Echail's and dragged him away from the path, then returned to the horses, and he looked like a man who has lost everything he lived for but is too stubborn to die.

They set off again, faster now, and soon the path started to rise and they came to the cliff where it led out of the valley. The Men dismounted but let Legolas stay on Marigold's back, and it was a nightmare within a nightmare to sit there with his bound hands entangled in her mane and watch the ground disappear in the darkness below. As they got higher up he could see the row of fires leading up to where the House of Elrond was faintly lit in the middle of the vast night. Legolas' chest tightened. He was too far away for any help to come now. He had to to something - he had only tried to escape once and if he didn't hurry up he would be killed.

But he didn't know what to do and he couldn't think. He was alone, utterly alone, and now they rode through the pine forest, and there was the place where they had attacked last time. It made him short of breath to see it again. They halted when the path split in two, and the Men began to debate about which way to take. Legolas looked around. The trees stood still and silent around them, but he could sense their distress, as though they knew that something bad was happening. He didn't know if elves could talk to trees the way trees talked to elves - with thoughts and feelings, rather than words - but elves could speak through the mind, could they not?

Old and wise elves, that was.

_Please help me_ , he thought, closing his eyes and trying to feel the words in his whole body the way he felt tree-voices. _They're going to kill me. Please help._

"I know it is faster", Scead was saying, "but we should stay off the main road. If we run into..."

"Weren't we in a hurry just now?"

"Not to be discovered!"

A bullfinch sang. It sat on a branch not far from the path, its scarlet chest the only thing visible in the dark. As soon as Legolas saw it, it lifted, flew in a wide circle over his head and disappeared among the trees.

"This will bring us closer to that ravine - the one where we met the Old One last time. We could drop the elfling off the cliff there and they won't find him in the dark. Then we're rid of him, and we can hurry."

Marigold whinnied. She side-stepped, tossing her head - Legolas nearly fell off her back. Scead cursed and grabbed her bridle to keep her still.

"What are you doing? Stop bothering her!"

Legolas gave a muffled protest; he wasn't doing anything! Soothingly he ran his fingers through Marigold's mane until she calmed down - only for Legolas to jump the next moment. Something had touched his leg.

He looked down. It was a shrew mouse - no, there were three of them. They were hiding under his cloak but he could feel their little claws through his trousers. The Men hadn't seen them. They had come to some conclusion, and now they set off along the left path, the one that ran up towards the mountains. With Tilwine behind him and Scead in front, there was no one to see the shrews come out from under Legolas' cloak and gnaw on the ropes tying his hands together.

Legolas could have cried with relief. There was a chance, after all. If only - if only he did everything right maybe he could get away.

The path soon became steep and narrow, and cliffs rose on both sides of them. As they left the trees behind, a shadow flew overhead; Legolas didn't have time to see what it was, but there was a soft thud as snow fell from the cliff above. The shadow had landed on it.

"Is that a kestrel?" Tilwine asked.

"It's an owl, you fool."

"Not that one", Tilwine snarled, " _that_ one."

Legolas looked around. It was the owl that sat on the cliff - he hoped it was a real one this time, but the Men didn't seem to know it - but there was the kestrel too, circling above their heads. _His_ kestrel. It watched him with its head tilted to the side, but did not come down.

The ground opened to their left. There was a chasm, leading straight down into darkness. The path widened, becoming broad enough for two.

The ropes fell off his wrists. The mice scuttled down his leg and dropped the snow as they came to a stop.

"I must admit, elfling", Scead said and turned his horse half-way round to face him, "that I'm sorry about this. You're a spirited child, not without promise. Your parents should have known better than let you get mixed up the affairs of others." He came closer and drew his dagger, and Legolas thought he could feel the cold radiating from it. His heart seemed to have forgotten to beat. Panic rose from his chest to his head and emptied it of all thoughts.

Scead laughed. He didn't look sorry at all. "A little fawn", he said, "that has strayed from its mother. You should never have left that forest, elfling."

"Now, elf!" the kestrel cried, and Legolas looked up. The bird swept down with a furious scream and dug its claws deep into Scead's hand, and he dropped the dagger with a roar. The owl bore down on Tilwine, the kestrel kept screaming, and Marigold whinnied; Legolas took her reins and kicked his heels in her sides, and Scead's horse shied in front of them. They steered past her, Scead struggling to stay in the saddle, and broke into a gallop such as Legolas would never have expected of his sturdy ranger mare. Along the edge of the chasm they dashed madly, up the path - there was no way they could have turned to ride back the way they'd come, but at that moment getting away was all that Legolas could think of - and when the Men took up the chase, their horses refused. The fall was too deep and the path too treacherous. The kestrel and the owl and now a swirl of bats clouded around them. Legolas ripped the gag off and spat out the cloth in his mouth, then leaned over Marigold's neck as she threw herself up the path.

The ground levelled and Marigold lengthened her strides; she flew, not as fast as Amlûg on the grass plains, but she flew nevertheless. The snow whirled around them. The wind howled in their ears.

"Hurry!" the kestrel said. "No time!"

Legolas looked over his shoulder. There was Scead, coming over the edge; after him Tilwine. Their horses were bigger than Marigold and built for running swift.

"Go, go", Legolas urged and Marigold ran, but she already did her best. They came into another forest; this one was thicker, with more undergrowth, and the path dwindled to a deer track that vanished under the snow. Marigold hesitated and before Legolas had decided where to steer her she had slowed down. He urged her on but she was tired now and didn't quite reach the same speed as before. Legolas looked over his shoulder. Scead was closer now.

"This way!" Legolas decided, kicking her sides again. "Fast!"

"Down there! Tilwine! _Come one!_ "

"Faster!" the kestrel yelled.

Marigold struggled through the undergrowth, stumbling over roots. The blood pounded so loud in Legolas ears he could barely hear anything else. Branches slapped him in the face and there were bushes in the way and now he wasn't sure which direction he'd been going and which he'd come from. Through the branches he saw a shape; then there was a horse and a rider, and they split into two horses and two riders, one with a drawn bow.

"Marigold, _go!_ "

"Ride!" the kestrel said. "Ride, elf!"

If they could only get through these bushes, the Men would be stuck in the same place, and Legolas would have a chance to find a place to hide. Marigold wheezed for breath. They were almost through; there was an opening in the trees; they were there, they were -

\- the ground vanished and -

One moment they struggled through the thick undergrowth; in the next, Marigold fought to find footing in the snow on a steep slope. Her hooves stirred up earth and dead leaves but there was nothing stable, nothing safe. The ground sloped to a fall; when she got close to the edge, Legolas saw the bottom far below, littered with stones.

Above them, the Men appeared as silhouettes against the sky. Marigold rolled her eyes, flailing in an attempt to get back over the edge. Legolas clung to her neck. The Men watched.

Maybe they would not make it worse. Maybe they had something good in them.

The moment Marigold found her balance, Scead raised his bow. He fired a single arrow.

Legolas felt his shoulder split open and pain flashed red and yellow across his vision. The force of the impact threw him backwards from the saddle. He did not know if he cried out or if he only inhaled cold air. He fell hard on the side, slid over the dead leaves and fumbled for something to hold on to - a root or a stone - anything - but his sweaty fingers could not get grip of any root, and when he finally found a stone it came loose from the cold earth. He tumbled over the edge more surprised than scared for suddenly falling. The air howled in his ears. There was a crushing sound when he landed. His leg bent under him.

Pain shattered the world.

* * *

The round stones of the dais on which the charred thrones stood were slick and covered in weeds. Some of them were loose under Merilin's feet and she hoped that if anyone was attentive enough to notice the missing ones, they would assume that they had rolled off into the weeds below - not been picked up by someone gathering ammunition for their slings. But there were many risks, she knew. Many places where everything could go wrong.

Below the dais, rose still smoke from the abandoned fires, and here and there the glow of embers lit up the stump of a tree or a forgotten bedroll in the snow. They had done everything to make it look like they had left in a haste. All tracks led to this place - the orcs would know where to find them, and if they wanted to kill them this was where they would go. If. There was a possibility they would simply pass it by, and then all would be lost.

But there was no time for such doubts.

Merilin glanced around. Outside the clearing there was nothing but darkness. The elves had covered their hair and faces with ashes, and they had scarves over their mouths so their breath would not steam. The fires were hid under blankets and leaves.

They could easily have left her, Merilin thought. They could have left her to face the orcs alone.

Beside her, Ninniach lifted her head.

Merilin had heard it too.

The trees held their breath.

"Hide", Merilin whispered, not louder than a owl's flight on an upwind.

Ninniach touched her hand. "I can stay a while longer."

"We cannot risk anything. Go now. Stay close."

Terrified cold replaced the heat where Ninniach's body had been pressed close to hers. Like a shadow she was gone, the white fur over her shoulder glinting once between the trees before vanishing completely. Merilin clenched and unclenched her hands. Now she was alone. There it was again: the distant howl of a warg, a triumphant laughter hastily silenced. Merilin wanted to run, but held her ground. She had to. Everything depended on her.

Then it was quiet for so long she wondered if she's only imagined it, and her heart fluttered in foolish hope - but there were the wargs again, closer now, and a horn blowing. They were coming. Amid the terror she was relieved.

_It will be over soon. Whether I die or live the fear will be over._

The tension rose until it was nearly tangible. Someone shifted their stance, snapping a twig behind her. A fire flamed up and was hastily quenched to a faint glow. Soon, soon, someone whispered as if a fire could be soothed to obedience.

Merilin counted her breaths.

A horn blew again, an order was given so close by she could almost make out the words. Merilin felt for her sword. However intently she listened for sounds, however focused she was on the task ahead, she was unprepared when the orcs emerged from the darkness on the other side of the clearing - they came like a spring-flood, all yellow eyes and gnarling mouths and howling laughter, and for a moment she thought they would ran right at her and she would be trampled beneath their iron-shod feet. But they saw her standing between the charred thrones, alone and straight like a willow.

And they stopped, like she had hoped they would. Even the wargs were held in and kept in place. Beneath the dais they gathered, and she looked down on them all and the terror was such that her heart wanted to explode and her chest hurt from containing it, but she resisted the urge to take a step back. If she took one step she would not be able to stop herself from taking another. She must hold her ground.

Courage, Merilin, she told herself. Courage for Greenwood. Courage for father.

One of the orcs pushed his way to the front, pulling a war-axe from the sling in his belt, and she noted the empty scabbard beside it - silver and black, beautiful once, adorned with a row of gems that seemed to ate all light around them. Hatred filled her, bittersweet. Here was the bearer of the sword that had wounded her father. And when she met his yellow adder eyes she saw the crown on his head - a notched silver crown, burnt and twisted as if someone had tried to heat it in a fire to reshape it, but only been able to distort the weaving vines. The crown of Doriath might not be so easily reshaped, but mockery it was all the same.

Death she wished upon him. _Oh Elbereth Gilthoniel_ , she thought, _let me be the one who gives it to him._

The orc smiled, though there was question in his eyes. He must wonder why stood here alone, and if indeed she was alone. Did he notice how dark and impenetrable the forest was around the clearing, how easy it would be to hide in the shadows? Had he considered how narrow the entrance was; how easy it would be to block it with only little preparation?

There was not much time.

The orc with the silver crown took a step forward.

"Stop", Merilin said, and even over the shuffle of feet in the snow and the click-click of warg claws, her voice was loud and clear. "In the name of King Thranduil and Queen Gwiwileth of Greenwood, you will not take another step. You will turn on your heels and walk back the way you came."

There was laughter, if that eerie metallic sound could be called laughter, but the trees took courage. She felt the earth hum beneath her feet as she had not felt it since she entered the shadow-wood. There was warmth in it, it went through her legs and into her chest, and she raised her chin. Foolishly the orcs still laughed, but not the one in the silver crown.

"This is the realm of the Elves of Greenwood", she said. "In their name and in mine I, Merilin of Greenwood, forbid you from desecrating this place, and from coming near my people, and from tainting these lands. You will not take another step."

The orc with the silver crown looked at her and sneered. "And what if we do?"

Merilin drew her sword. The sound of it rang through the forest a hundred times as the elves among the trees did the same. There was a groan of ropes being pulled and wood protesting against it; the trees by the entrance were ready to be brought down to block it. She heard bows creak, leather gloves gripping tighter around the shaft of spears. The jaws of their trap would fall shut the moment she ordered it.

"If you do", she said, "we will kill you."

* * *

Thranduil waited in dark dreams.

The Black Gates stood before him in the smoke, unmoving and unyielding, and he dared not go near them. He was alone, alone on a plain of dead grasses, where swords and armour, dented helmets and broken spears, torn banners trampled into dirt lay scattered all around, but there were no bodies - no orcs, no elves, no Men - not a single being, dead or not, of flesh and blood but him. At times he thought he heard someone weeping, but he could never decide from which direction it came. And wherever he tried to walk, as soon as he lost them behind him in the smoke, the Gates would appear before him again. He knew that he could never escape them.

Thranduil waited, in dread at first, for them to open and reveal whatever hid behind them. He waited, prepared to run or fight or even just cower in fear, but nothing came, and nothing happened, and he stood among the remnants of a thousand-year-old battle, rings of crushed chain mail clinking beneath his feet, until it occurred to him that perhaps they would never open. Perhaps the nightmare would not end with his death. Perhaps what made it a nightmare was that it would not end at all.

He despaired at first, but then - a rage came over him such as he had never felt, blocking out the fear, and he ran up to the Gates and pounded his fists bloody against them. Come out! he screamed until his voice was hoarse: Come out and face me, you coward! I am waiting! You will not leave me here to rot away! Come out and face me!

You little fool! his father said behind him, his voice cold like metal wheels grinding against each other. When Thranduil turned he saw Oropher stand there again, his broken body dripping blood and water into the grass. You think you can fight Him?

So thought you once.

His father laughed, throwing his head back on its snapped neck. And look how that went! You were never as strong as me, Thranduil. You will be crushed like an ant under His boot.

You are not real, Thranduil replied and turned away from him, but in his heart there was a flicker of doubt. Perhaps he was dead, and it was truly his father that stood before him, not some abomination created by a dream. _Father would never have said that_ , he thought. _Father loved me_ \- but what did he know what Oropher had felt in his heart?

Perhaps I will be crushed, he said, turning again, but that is yet better than...

His voice died down, consumed by the sudden silence. His father was no longer behind him. Thranduil caught the briefest glimpse of him through the smoke, dragging his battered body into a pool of sick water, arms of seaweed reaching up to welcome him, a torch flickering - and he screamed and tried to follow, but the grasses caught around his feet and he slipped and fell handlessly.

No! he screamed. Don't go - don't leave - don't leave me alone!

But his father was gone and the torch was gone and Thranduil brought his arms up over his head and realised that the one who was weeping in the silence was himself.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, Legolas was only aware of the pain.

Something cold and sharp worked its way through his left leg, like shards of glass shifting inside his veins. His shoulder burnt white-hot with fire. Pain rolled through his body in waves and crackled and hissed in his head, sending flashes of light across his vision and making him so heavy he could not move. Some part of his mind still knew what had happened, but it was very difficult to put thoughts together.

He lay in a heap, one arm tucked awkwardly under his body and the other stretched out in the snow. He knew that he had fallen. The ground was heaving under him and the sky and the trees and the cliffs whirled in a thick mist around him, but when eventually it slowed down, the ground stopping its sickening motion, it allowed some fragments of thoughts to seep into his mind. He remembered the Men chasing him. He realised - his mind working very slowly - that it was the fur cloak that had saved him. It had fallen on top of him and hid him from their view in the dark. Maybe they thought that he was dead. But if they wanted to, surely they could come down to look for him.

And? he wondered, watching the stones scattered around him slip in and out of focus, as if some veil of dark cloth billowed between them and him.

And that meant he must hide somewhere. Move.

But he didn't want to move. He was very very tired and everything hurt already. He wanted to lay still and wait for someone to find him.

Only if anyone found him it would be Scead and Tilwine and they would kill him.

Legolas drew a deep breath. The cold night air filling his battered lungs cleared his head somewhat. He forced himself to roll over until he could push himself up on his arms, feeling as though the very air was pressing down and around his head as though to crush it. Everything rolled and heaved around him, but he told himself he could rest once he sat up, and after a while it slowed down. He looked around. He sat below a stony slope that he must have rolled down after he landed. Trees grew tall around him, scattered between stones and great boulders. A little further down he thought there was a stream, covered in ice, and behind it a path.

That was not good. If the path came from above, that meant it would be as easy as nothing to get down here. But there was no way Legolas could get away on his own - not with his head ready to split open and not with those glass shards in his leg. He had to hide, and he had to hide well.

On the other side of the path the trees grew thicker, but they were too far away. Legolas would never make it there, either. Closer to him, below the cliff, a boulder leaning against another created a hollow which would hide him from the path. That would have been better, but when Legolas thought of crawling all that way on his own, it made him so weary he wanted to cry. Even closer, just a few steps down the slope, grew a stand of bushes thick and tall, and there was an opening in them that would let him crawl in under them.

Legolas knew it was not good enough. Even if the men did not see him, they would know where to look. But he did not have the willpower to go any further. The way down would be hard enough in itself. He thought of how his body had fallen into the snow and rolled down the stony slope and he knew that it was bruised and battered and his leg was broken and maybe some ribs were, because his chest hurt so much - and the thought almost made him give up, but he pushed it away. He could get down to those bushes. He _could_. One step at a time. He crept and wormed and dragged himself down. The cloak was heavy but his bandaged hands weren't nimble enough to open the clasp.

One step at a time. Had there ever been anything else than pain? He focused on those bushes until it was only him and the dark opening left in the world. It was just like archery. Focus on the target. Focus on the target until your eyes can burn a hole right through it.

There was pain and pain and pain and then suddenly he was there - he didn't even notice - cold, stiff branches brushing against his face and when he looked up, he looked into darkness. It took all of his remaining strength to pull himself inside. The bushes on the other side were not as tall as he had hoped, but he could not see the path when he lay down.

It hurt too much to curl up very tight. It was bad, he knew; he'd be found. But he had no more strength. He pulled the cloak over his head and collapsed on a mat of dead leaves, and the world vanished into hazy darkness.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I will expect your declarations of war in the morning.


	24. Below the Cliff

When Legolas woke, moonlight shone onto his face and cut like knifes through the darkness in his head. Dazed, he tried to turn to the other side, and found he could not move: his body was so heavy, and it hurt too much. Worms with razor-sharp teeth crawled through his leg. His head felt like it was made of lead. Legolas shut his eyes tight and tried to go back to sleep. He was so very tired.

Someone hit him with a sledgehammer, right in the head. It hurt so much he would have screamed if he had had the strength.

The sledgehammer shoved him in the head and blew a puff of warm air in the back of his neck. Legolas whimpered and tried to move to the side. Something warm and wet touched the side of his face. It was not a sledgehammer. It was a nose.

_Marigold_. The word formed in Legolas's head though at first he could not connect it to anything particular. Marigold had come... had found him... He could not remember where he was or how he had ended up here. But Marigold was with him. That made him feel better.

Except that she insisted on banging her heavy head against his face, and Legolas didn't know what to do to make her stop. He managed to lift one immensely heavy arm to her nose, but he had not the strength to push her away. She breathed warm air on his face. It seemed that it scattered some of the mists inside his head, so that his thoughts cleared slightly. Marigold wasn't going to let him go back to sleep. She wanted him to move. Legolas forced his eyes open again.

"Will try", he said, and though it came out all slurry and distorted, it felt good to hear his own voice. He moved his arms and his good leg. The pain was unbearable. He lay still a moment to gather himself.

Then he supported himself on his elbows, and with a strength he had not known he possessed he pushed himself around and out of the stand of bushes. The moon threw spears of white-hot light into his head, but the wind - _Elbereth_ , the wind was so soothing. Legolas inhaled as deeply as he could, then laid his head on the snow to rest again.

Snow. Dead leaves under his hands. It was quiet - there was no one around. He remembered leaving Rivendell, sneaking out... no, Radagast had come to save him. He must have left again, after that.

He had been chased.

He had fallen.

Marigold shoved him in the head again, and this time Legolas gave a weak protest and covered his head with his arms. He still hurt. He wanted to sleep. He could not think clearly anyway. Why did he have to move, anyway?

Because if he didn't, he would die.

Whimpering he tried to deny it. He was just dazed, that was all. And tired, and that wasn't strange, because it was very late.

But he knew it was not so. Even elves can only take so much cold, and he knew that it was dangerous hitting one's head as hard as he had. If he slept again, he might never wake.

The thought came as another physical blow. It meant he had to choose - and choose now. Either he moved, which would be incredibly difficult, and figured out a way to get help, which would take all the willpower he had left, and dragged his battered body to a place where he would be better hidden, which would hurt - or he simply lay here until either the men - he remembered them vaguely - found him and killed him, or he died on his own.

He decided to stay where he was.

And yet, Legolas could not. There was something that kept him awake. His muddled thoughts began to wander - they touched the moaning of ice over running water, the memory of men on horses that laughed as he fell - then the whisper of trees, but not the trees that stood around him now but those that grew around his home in Greenwood - and then, as clear as the light of day, he knew that mother and father was waiting for him there, and Merilin, and Tinuhen was coming, and then he knew. He knew that if it was possible to see them again, he had to try.

_Water_ , he thought. Water would help clear his mind. It would help keep him awake, too. He pushed himself up again until he was on his knees and looked down the slope. Yes, there was the stream - some ten steps away, an impossible distance. But now that he had started thinking about it, Legolas was very thirsty - thirsty enough that, despite the effort it would take, he was ready to crawl those ten steps to the stream.

It seemed to take him ages. His body was so heavy he could hardly move it, and there was no way he could do it without jostling his broken leg - in the end he could only clench his jaw and endure it, because there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain. Marigold walked beside him, now and then whinnying or bowing her head to give him a light shove. Legolas was not sure she knew what was happening, but when he reached the stream and had not the strength to break the ice, she stomped on it until it cracked and made a hole large enough for him to dip his hands in the water. The water was so cold it burnt his throat, but it was the best thing he had ever felt. He managed two handfuls before he doubled over and heaved into the water. He had drunk too fast. Legolas leaned back, waited for his stomach to settle and his dinner to dissolve in the stream, then cupped his hands again and drank slowly, one small sip at a time. He had to scoop up water several times because he could not make a tight enough cup with his unsteady hands, and it was tiring, but the water cleared his head and this time he could to keep it.

With another immense effort, Legolas forced himself to disentangle his thoughts. He needed to remember where he was, and why, and if there was a way he could get back to Rivendell. For a long while it seemed impossible. His thoughts were so slow; again and again they shattered, the memories he had managed to piece together spilled from his mind like the water had spilled through his fingers and he had to start all over again. Pain lay like a haze over it all, a heavy blanket darkening everything.

But at long last, the pieces of memory and thoughts were, maybe not in order, but in a way that made some sort of sense. He knew most of what had happened. He knew he had been chased, and that there was a risk that the men came back for him. He thought that first of all he must get a message to Rivendell; second, he must find a good place to hide, and this time he must do it properly. Once he was safe, he could tend any wounds that were immediately threatening. Any others could wait.

Would Marigold go back to Rivendell if he told her? Legolas was not so sure, and besides, the men might find her.

A kestrel landed on the other side of the stream, startling Marigold. Legolas blinked drowsily at it. It looked back with eyes like dark opals.

"Do I know you?" Legolas asked, because could not remember.

The kestrel nodded. "Elf been kind. Gave food. Now help elf."

"How?"

The kestrel tilted its head to the side and blinked. It opened its beak, closed it, and blinked again.

Legolas looked down at his tunic. One of the sleeves were torn at the hem and his scraped hands had left stains of blood over it. Would anyone recognise it? Maybe not; but they'd know something was wrong. With the help of his teeth and then the kestrel's beak, he tore a blood-stained piece of green cloth that the kestrel could carry in its talons.

"Take it to Rivendell", he said. "If you find Gandalf or Radagast or Elrond or the twins, give it to them. Then make sure they get back here to me. And be careful."

The kestrel took the cloth and flew. Legolas looked after it until weariness almost made him fall over. Shaking his head he opened his eyes again. He must find a place to hide.

Why was that again?

Because of the men, he remembered, and then - which men? Everything slipped out of his head like fishes through a broken net. His plan began to slip, too, and Legolas panicked, grasped after it - hide, he must remember to hide. There, he had it.

"I'm going to hide, Marigold", he said, as if saying it out loud would keep the thought in place. And perhaps it did, because it stayed clear.

He looked around again, and saw a boulder leaning against the cliff side a bit to the left. It felt vaguely familiar, as if he had seen it before. It was far enough from the place where he had fallen to not be immediately obvious, and the crevice was rather hard to see - especially to one who did not see very well in the dark, and hadn't someone told him men didn't?

He must be quick, because even if Marigold had found a way down that the men had not found, that did not mean they could show up any moment. When he thought that, Legolas could see them clearly in his mind - Scead and Tilwine. The relief of remembering gave him some strength.

Perhaps he could lean on Marigold, and hop up to the rocks on his good leg. It seemed a good idea, because he could get there faster, except there was something - there was something wrong with it. Legolas looked at Marigold, then at the patch of uneven snow between the stream and the rocks, criss-crossed with the tracks of hares and birds... He blinked and looked back the way they had come. Her hoofprints were clearly visible. The tracks his own body had made could hardly be seen at all in the dark.

He reached up to touch Marigold's head, but still wasn't strong enough to force her to turn.

"You have to go away now, Marigold", he said. "I'll make it from here."

She looked at him but didn't, of course, understand.

"You have to go away." Legolas sought desperately for a way to make her understand. "Go", he said. "Now!"

A branch snapped. The birch across the stream shivered in shock, but it had dropped the branch deliberately; it fell onto the ground just beside Legolas. He bent down and picked it up. "Go!" he said and struck Marigold over the back with it. Confused she pranced away from him. Legolas held the branch high and glared at her.

At last she turned. He threw the branch after her and it made her break into a gallop down the path. Legolas looked after her. Now he was alone. He cupped his hands and drank once more, then started to move again from the stream, using his hands and his good leg to crawl up the slope. He forgot what it feels like to be rested and not in pain. When he reached the crevice, he sank down trembling outside of it, blinded by tears. Exhausted he crawled inside and collapsed on the dry earth, and though he vaguely he remembered that he should take care of his wounds, his body was too heavy to move any longer. He shut his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

After a swift meal on the last bread and dried meat, they broke up. Tinuhen counted their torches before they left, both those they had already used and the spare ones, and concluded only every fourth elf could have one if they were to last through the night. Those that were left without gritted their teeth but said nothing. They had all known what they were in for when they chose to dare the cave.

It had taken hours until all agreed, but they had made the decision together. Tinuhen had made sure of that. The choice had not been his to make - it never had been, for he may be a prince at home but out here that meant nothing. Their lives mattered as much as his did, and he could not, like Beren, argue that his experience made him better suited to decide. And still Beren had known what Tinuhen had not understood until now: that his task was to lead, not to rule, and that there was a world of difference between those two words.

But Tinuhen knew that now. As the battle raged, no one had been more important than anyone else. So tiring as it had been, he had made sure everyone got their say as the discussions lasted the whole morning after the battle. When no agreement had been made by noon, he did not force it; instead, he let the council end while they took care of Beren's body and the slain horses, and as the sun begun to set after the short winter day they sat in silence, each deep in thought. The decision was made without anyone arguing for either option. When the swift nightfall had drowned the mountains in shadow they gathered again, and this time they all knew. They had a mission that could not be abandoned. Legolas needed them, and they needed Rivendell. They would dare the cave.

This time they stood together, and it helped. There were no arguments, no petty quarrels as so often before. Beren's death had not left them without hope; rather it had strengthened their bonds and made them all the more determined to go through with it, so that his death would not be for naught. That was what kept Tinuhen going, as the walls of the cave drew closer and the air became so stuffy he thought he would choke. Tinuhen had taken the lead, and though that meant he got to carry a torch it did not make him feel much better. The darkness before him was near impenetrable; all he saw were a few feet of rough stone walls and a floor covered in dust in dirt; veils of spider webs caressed coldly his face, though the only glimpses he got of the spiders were the shadows of their long legs as they escaped the light. When the cave bent, and it often did, even the torch closest behind him disappeared.

The first hours of their march, the cave had looked exactly like this - a stone tunnel, sometimes so low they had to bow their heads, sometimes so narrow the horses barely got through. The horses had to be soothed and coerced to go on, but the elves took comfort in their presence. Tinuhen was not sure he could have go on without his Niphredil's warm breath in his neck. She was reasonably calm now, though the flicker of torch-light on the walls spooked her sometimes. Tinuhen did not like it much either, but it was better than utter darkness.

When the walls on either side vanished, he stopped.

"My prince?" Hethulin said behind him, with a quaver to her voice. "Is something wrong?"

"No", Tinuhen said, which was a mistake.

_No no NO_ , the echo roared back across a vast distance, and a terrified silence fell in the tunnel; Niphredil, thankfully far enough behind him to not give off an equally bad echo, whinnied anxiously. Tinuhen stepped back into the tunnel, pressing close to her, because he did not dare to speak out there again.

"We have reached the bridge", he said, "just like Radagast said. It is a good sign. We're almost through."

Radagast had warned them for the old stone bridge, spanning a ravine so deep and vast it could have housed a dragon at the bottom and no one who walked atop would know it. The echo of that chamber was not to take lightly. The elves had prepared by wrapping the horse's hooves with cloth so their hooves would not make too much noise.

"Hush now", he said to his horse, and led her out on the bridge, stepping very carefully. The darkness closed in on every side; the torch found nothing to light, no walls, no floor, no roof. All he could see was a few steps of the bridge ahead. It was narrow and worn-down. A rope hang from the side, vanishing into the dark. His left foot found something metallic beneath a cover of dust as deep as a hand's breadth. Tinuhen picked it up; it was a sword, old and rusty.

On a whim he threw it over the edge of the bridge. It was a foolish thing to do, but the sword simply vanished; Tinuhen never heard it hit the bottom.

He turned and gestured for Hethulin to follow, and she did, if reluctantly, her eyes wide. At least the bridge was reasonably broad. Even the horses could walk there without problem. There were rotten wooden boards scattered along the edges that Tinuhen supposed were the remains of a parapet. In daytime, Radagast had said, the cave would have been crawling with bats, but they had left to hunt along with the moths.

Miraculously, they all made it across the bridge without any more mishaps than Maidh dropping his water skin over the edge. Water was nothing they had in plenty, and they had had to leave the barrels behind with Laeros's cart, but they would soon be on the other side anyway. Even Laeros managed the bridge without much trouble. Sometimes Tinuhen wondered if he was getting better or worse; if perhaps the perils of the last days had made it shut down completely. But when they had stopped to eat, he had walked over to Laeros and tried to talk to him, and though Laeros had said little, he had seemed alert and awake.

"Right", Tinuhen said, when he had come a way down the next tunnel, "we have passed the bridge. Here is where Radagast said we might stop for the night. Do we or do we not?"

"It's past midnight anyway", said Hethulin, but she passed the question down along the line. There was a total favour of going on, and so they did.

The tunnel split, and they took the left way as Radagast had told them to. It became narrow first, frighteningly so, but then it broadened and opened into another chamber where they followed a broad ledge that wound down and down along the chamber wall. Then they came to the second bridge, and then to something that had once been a stair. Radagast had not known who had built the bridges or the stairs; it had happened long ago, when the mountains were young and easily formed.

Tinuhen had very little sense of how much time passed because the only way to measure it was to count the landmarks that Radagast had told them about. They stopped once more by a subterranean river to drink. The water was freezing cold and tasted like metal, but it gave them the strength to go on, and the horses seemed relieved. When finally they reached the end of the cave, it was so dark outside Tinuhen would not have known it was there if he had not felt the change of air.

They walked a bit down a slope until they came out of the mountain's shadow and into the moonlight. There, without a word to each other, they all sank down in the snow and sat there for a long while. By the position of the moon Tinuhen guessed it must be past midnight. The Council could just as well be over, but Radagast should have been there in time.

"What now?" he asked finally. "It is not far to Rivendell from here, but we are all exhausted. Should we - "

"My prince!" Maidh said, pointing to the sky. "Look!"

Tinuhen looked up. A bird was circling slowly above them - a small bird of prey, a kestrel. He squinted at it.

It seemed to carry something in it's talons.

* * *

A squirrel chattered madly, scuttling to and fro in desperation. Legolas blinked.

He could hear the squirrel move over the leaves, but it was too dark for him to see more than a shadow. Dimly he could made out the rough structure of unpolished stone, as if he lay in a cave. He was shivering, and the shivers made every part of him hurt.

He could not remember anything.

Legolas tried to ask the squirrel about it, but his throat was like parchment. His one arm was tucked under him - he had curled up on the side - and he set the other down so he could push himself up a bit, but his shoulder protested violently and Legolas fell back on the ground. But he had enough time to glimpse an opening, just behind him, so he was not in any deep cave. It was very dark outside, but he thought he had seen more stones, and snow, and perhaps trees further away.

Legolas lay down and tried to reach out to pat the squirrel, but it leapt out of the way. Never mind. Legolas was too tired to care. Dead leaves that had blown into the crevice fell into dust when he touched them.

He wondered what he was doing here, and why everything hurt. He wondered if someone would come and take him away.

But when he heard voices and footsteps he felt scared, not relieved. It was as though he had been scared before he fell asleep and that feeling had lingered; or maybe he had dreamt. He lay still and listened. Somewhere outside a horse tried to scrape some grass out from under the snow, and someone - a man - walked over clattering stones. A cloak whispered over the ground. The squirrel pulled frantically at Legolas' tunic, but he did not move; he was too tired and too hurt, even though his head screamed at him to run.

"You go", he tried to say, though it became a hoarse squeak. "You go, quick."

The squirrel stood in front of him, staring at the entrance.

Something dark blocked it.

It was a cloak; the wearer bent down, and his face became visible, pale in the moon-light that was dimly reflected in the snow. His face was broad and ruddy, framed with flaxen hair that had been pulled into a loose braid; his eyes had the colour of a pale spring sky. The dagger in his hand glinted dully as he held it up.

Tilwine.

Somehow the name made Legolas' heart tighten in fear. Somehow, though he had forgotten, he _knew_.

He wanted to crawl further in, but his body would not move. So he lay still and waited, and for a long time Tilwine did not stir either; his eyes were wide and dark like deep wells, and Legolas met them evenly. He was not very afraid. He was sad, and angry. He had fought so hard and the men had laughed at him - let him lie here in pain and when he thought he was safe, when he thought it was over - that was when they chose to show up. It was not fair.

After all Tilwine had done, it was the least he could do to look Legolas in the eye when he killed him.

But Tilwine did not move.

"Well?" Scead called from a distance. "Is he there?"

_Yes he is_ , Legolas thought. _And you can come and kill him, if you want his blood on your hands._

Tilwine stood up. He sheathed his sword. He turned his back on Legolas.

"He's not here."

"Curse it!" Scead said. "Curse our luck, of course he's not! These hoofprints - that horse of his must have found him. We have no time to lose. If he gets back to Rivendell..."

Their voices faded. Legolas listened until the sound of their horses were long gone. He thought: _if I want to live I cannot stay here. I need to get warm. I mustn't fell asleep again_.

He was only going to close his eyes for a moment.

* * *

His mother sat at the entrance to the cave.

"How cold you are", she said. "Why didn't you make yourself a fire?"

"I was too tired." Legolas tried to get closer to her, but his body was too heavy. "Can't you make me a fire?"

"You should never have left your brother", father said.

"And why did you fall down that cliff?" Merilin asked. "That was really stupid."

"Foolish, spoilt child", said Tinuhen. "I always knew that you would end like this."

Legolas shut his eyes tight and tried to pretend like they weren't there.

* * *

The horses came back. They were many this time.

"Nooo", Legolas whispered, "you went away!"

But the horses stopped nearby and he heard the soft steps of many feet walking lightly on top of the snow. Voices were calling, elven voices this time - and he knew them, every single one, and instead of stars and jewels they made him think of moss and earth and trees, and they were shouting his name; and there was a kestrel calling...

Someone blocked the opening again.

"Valar, Legolas, I have found you, I have found you..."

Someone sank down beside him, dust shimmering in silver hair. Legolas tried to speak, but he could not. Strong arms pulled him from the ground and lifted him into the moonlight, pressed close to a warm chest where a strong heart beat with life.

"I'm here, little leaf, you'll be fine, I'll save you. I'll save you. All will be fine."

And Legolas knew, now that Tinuhen was here, it would.

But the darkness came again and he slipped and fell into it. He could not find the way out. He hear Tinuhen call his name, but it sounded more and more distant - and now there was someone weeping, and that sound grew closer instead. Legolas had no other way to turn. Following the weeping, he walked into dark dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only two chapters left O.o  
> I finally have some time to write (though two exams after the christmas break means I won't have that much of a break) and I hope that all of you who celebrated it had a merry christmas, and that all of you who didn't celebrate it had a lovely day anyway u w u  
> Thank you for reading!


	25. Shadow and Flame

It was dark and cold and Legolas was so very, very tired. He wanted to lay down in the snow, curl up under his cloak and wait for sleep to take him, but he knew he had to keep walking - _how_ he knew that he wasn't sure, but whatever happened, wherever he ended up, he had to go on. Nothing was more important.

It was so dark and the snowfall so thick that he could see little, and at times he wondered if he moved forward at all. It's only a dream, he told himself. Tinuhen found me. He rescued me. My leg is broken; I shouldn't be able to walk. It's only a dream.

But it _felt_ real. Maybe Tinuhen had been the dream.

Then he heard it again - the sound of someone weeping. Legolas looked up and around. It did not truly sound like a child this time, but he was certain it was the same voice he had followed to this place. Maybe if he found the source he would find a way out. Maybe that was why he must keep walking. Stumbling over his own feet in exhaustion, Legolas turned a little to the side in the direction of the sound.

The snow under his feet gave way for dry yellow grass. The darkness became a thick smoke that billowed over low hills. Pools of sick water glinted in the light of torches placed beside them, odd little lights that made him wonder, shuddering, who had lit them, and why. His foot hit something metallic and he looked down to find the ground littered with what looked like the remains of a battle - broken spear shafts, a banner trampled into the dust, a dented helmet, then a whole suit of armour, pierced by a sword but empty as though its owner had simply vanished.

When he heard the weeping again, he looked up, startled. It was close, only a few steps into the smoke; and when he saw who it was, Legolas began to weep as well.

* * *

"No change." Lord Elrond laid a hand on the child's forehead, brushing a strand of matted hair aside from the bruised face. "None at all."

Mithrandir did not answer. There was no need, either: the fear was written over the wizard's face as plainly as lord Elrond knew it was written over his. They had covered Legolas with all the blankets and furs they could find and stoked the fire to unbearable heat, but he was still as cold as death and not getting any warmer. Shock could have that effect, but lord Elrond had an unsettling feeling there was more to it than that. Everything about this night felt foul and twisted. He doubted it would go away so easily.

Mihrandir gave a deep sigh and his shoulders slumped, turning him into an old man where lord Elrond would have wished for the mighty wizard. The fury when he first learnt of what had happened, matched only by that of Glorfindel in that moment, had gone out like a candle flame when it was clear there was nothing he could do. Glorfindel had left to hunt for the men, but Mithrandir had remained, by lord Elrond's request, to help him tend the child - and keep his brother out of sight and mind until he would no longer be in the way. Both elf-lord and wizard had been occupied by that for many hours, but by now there was nothing left but wait. All their expertise had not been enough. Legolas did not wake. Lips blue, chest rising ans falling only barely under the blankets, he was lost to some deep dreams where lord Elrond could not reach him.

He sat down, tentatively, on the edge of the bed, and for a moment allowed himself to despair. When Lindir burst through the door on top of the library screaming that something had happened and Echail was hurt, when Tinuhen turned up on the courtyard with Legolas in his arms bleeding over his blue travel robes, when Elladan and Elrohir donned arms and armour and left with the darkness in their eyes only matched by the pain - it was all familiar to lord Elrond, that shock, that fear, that guilt. He had promised himself never to let it happen again. Never to let his children see such a thing through once more. Never to let anyone suffer as Celebrían had, if he could help it.

"No one saw this coming", Glorfindel had assured him before he rode after the twins. "No one, Elrond. Not even you."

Not even Saruman, lord Elrond mused now. It seemed nigh on impossible. He still blamed himself, always would.

He rose, smoothing down his robes with an absent-minded hand. "There is nothing else we can do here, and we have much to discuss. For now, let us leave Legolas in prince Tinuhen's care. He has waited long enough."

Tinuhen paced outside, as lord Elrond had known he did, having heard the sound of his heels up and down the corridor, loud at first but growing wearier and less distinct as time passed. His back was turned when lord Elrond opened the door, and he had a brief glimpse of a bowed head and hands picking nervously with the sleeves of his tunic; a tunic that hung loose and ill-fitting on a body reduced to skin and bone. Then the prince heard him, his head flew up, his back straightened, and he turned.

"How is - "

"The child is resting", lord Elrond said softly. He was not entirely sure what to say and what not to say at this hour. "Have you eaten? You must be hungry after -"

"Not at all", Tinuhen said. His voice was sharp as always, taking no heed of the tranquillity of the healing wing, but underneath the surface it was fragile as the leaves of last autumn. "May I go inside?"

"In a minute. I want a word with you first."

Tinuhen stopped his pacing by a window, through which the moon had sunk too low to shine. There was a bite in the air that no fires could chase away, for this was the coldest night yet of the year and the hours before dawn are always the very coldest of all. He sighed, the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades rising under the tunic. None of the wood-elves had eaten well, and it would not surprise lord Elrond if the prince had eaten less than any other to spare the supplies, saying naught of it.

"I cannot spare you this", he said. "We know not if Legolas will wake. He has suffered severe trauma, perhaps more than meets the eye. What can be done has been done - it is up to him now."

There was no answer, hardly any reaction, only a shift in the prince's stance that told lord Elrond his body has gone tense.

"It is far too early to lose hope", he said, and it was true: "but we must be prepared for the worst. If he wakes, that will likely mean the danger has passed, and until he does, we can only wait and hope. You may of course stay with him for as long as you wish."

"Yes. Was that all?"

Elrond hesitated. "Legolas told us he was the son of your guard's captain - Beren. I though he would be with you."

"He is dead", Tinuhen replied, his voice flat as though he had spent all tears that could be spent already. Or maybe he could not care for Beren, not now, not when his brother might be awaiting the same fate.

"That was all, then. Go inside."

Tinuhen turned away without another word, and his silence spoke to lord Elrond of the effort it took him not to break down entirely. He wanted to tell him it mattered not if he broke down, mattered not if he could not be strong any longer - Legolas would not notice, and Tinuhen was not in charge, did not carry the safety of his company on his young shoulders anymore. But this was Tinuhen. This was how he handled things.

No reassuring sight awaited him in Legolas' room. The child looked better than he'd done when he was carried inside, and far better than he must have looked when the prince found him - barely alive, one of the other elves had said, her face scrunched in a mask of pain, and so pale the cuts and bruises on his face and hands stood out like beacons. Only little colour had returned to his cheeks yet, but the cuts had been cleaned, the bruises smeared with a soothing salve, and his hands were bandaged anew, resting now atop his battered chest. It would have looked bad enough on a grown elf, but it was jarring to see a mere child in such a condition.

"We will be outside if you need us", Elrond said, doubting Tinuhen heard him, and closed the door around the brothers.

The sound of heavy steps coming alerted them that one of the warriors had returned - no elf moved so audibly unless heavily armoured. Glorfindel rounded the corner, leaving footprints of melting snow over the floor.

"Glorfindel! How - "

"Is he awake? Is he alright?"

"No and no", lord Elrond replied, for the balrog-slayer needed no sweetening of the news, "but it is too early to lose hope. Why -"

"And Echail, where is he?"

"We will be notified when he awakes - he was lucky, and will recover."

Glorfindel let out a breath and came to a stop. "We tracked them south past the Serpent's Ravine, the way prince Tinuhen came. We found the mare - Marigold, the horse that Legolas rode. The tracks turned west by the ravine. We suspect they are heading for the lowlands. They should be easier to track down there."

"Then why did you return?"

Glorfindel shrugged, but his eyes were dark. "Only a feeling. We cannot yet tell how great this deceit is, but it has come very close to us, has it not? Even Saruman the White could not see through those men. I wanted to be here in case - in case I shall be needed."

"But the men must be found, or we have nothing to go on. You did not take all the scouts with you back, did you?"

"I put the twins in charge of those I left."

Lord Elrond thought of the darkness in his sons' eyes, their crazed lust for revenge - and the recovery they had made over the past weeks seemingly all but gone. "You think that was wise?"

"I think it was necessary", Glorfindel said. "Legolas is not their mother, but the way they have taken him to their hearts - I believe that, in a way, they wanted to give him the protection they could not give lady Celebrían. And yet they failed - again. If Tilwine and Scead escape us I fear they will never forgive themselves. And there is nothing they can do _here_ but be in the way."

Lord Elrond did not answer. Perhaps Glorfindel was right; he found it difficult to look at the matter of his sons with any clarity. What Elrond desired was for Elladan and Elrohir to be here so that he could comfort them - but they had never allowed him to comfort them before, and he knew, as much as it pained him, they would not have allowed him to do so now either.

"You say there were signs of a sword fight where Echail was found", Mithrandir said.

"I think it is obvious what happened. How Echail came to follow the men I do not know, but he did, and he fought them."

"And Tilwine won?" lord Elrond asked.

"No - not Tilwine. I saw him fight. He could not have hid his skill from me. It was Scead - it must have been."

"Are you surprised? That he fought -"

The balrog-slayer hesitated but a heartbeat. "I am surprised he was spared. Not that he fought. He lacks nerve, but not true courage."

"Nor heart."

Glorfindel turned to pace the corridor again, the sword slapping against his steel-clad thigh, and Elrond gathered his full robes and followed. Tinuhen's voice had died down behind the door, lord Elrond noted as they passed; perhaps he had fallen asleep at last by his brother's side. Whenever Elladan was wounded, Elrohir used to fall asleep by his bed; Elladan always did the same to him, and when once both of them had been wounded, Arwen had slept between their beds.

"So what now?" Mithrandir asked, when they had come to the end of the corridor and was on the way back again.

"Now", said Elrond, "we know that there is evil near or within the White Council, and we can only hope the men can tell us something about who brought it there. It will be fruitless for the Council to try to find a traitor among themselves, I fear. But it seems clear to me that among all our potential allies and enemies, we were wrong not to trust Greenwood, for they were victim to this deciet far more than we were - you were right, Mithrandir." He clasped his hands behind his back, straightening somewhat, for he knew what must be done - and it was a relief to feel confident in that at last. "There is much they must be told of - Legolas' injury, the traitor within the Council, the attempts to twarth their joining it - and Legolas' fulfilling of prince Tinuhen's task. This message must be brought to them at once."

"But a messenger must take the way prince Tinuhen came", Glorfindel said. "It would be a difficult journey. It would be best to wait until the High Pass can be breached."

"We will not wait at all", lord Elrond said. "But messages to Greenwood have failed us before. It took Tuiw's life, it has taken Beren's, and it shall not take another. I will speak to Thranduil or Gwiwileth myself. It is the only way."

* * *

Thranduil wept. He had not moved since his father left; curled up on the ground he still sat, face hidden in his hands, and if he had not known that there could be no use he would have begged the one who kept him here to kill him. How low he had sunken, then, that he would consider such a thing. Gone was the proud Elvenking, and the prince that had once rode to battle on this very field. He wept for them and he wept for the wretched creature he now was, trapped in a nightmare that had no end.

The sound of footsteps behind him, barely audible, made him fall silent. He straightened.

"Have you come to mock me again, father? I care naught for what you say."

There was no answer, only the sound of feet shuffling against the grass. Thranduil turned.

It was not his father standing there. There was just tiny figure wrapped in a thick pale-green cloak, with bandages on his hands about to fall off, his face bruised and battered, his eyes wide and hollow, his pale hair full of snow and sticks and dead leaves. How small he was; smaller than Thranduil remembered.

Perhaps it was yet another illusion. Perhaps Legolas had come to mock him like Oropher had done. He should be safe back in Rivendell; there was no way it could be him.

But Legolas stumbled towards him and Thranduil held his arms out, shivering, and it was all that he could do - Legolas could tell him outright that he was not real, and still Thranduil would let him come to him, still he would not push him away. And Legolas collapsed into his arms and he was light as a feather but he felt _real_ , the weight of his slender body familiar, his hair soft and feathery under Thranduil's hands, thin arms and trembling hands grasping for a hold of Thranduil's robes. There were snow flakes in his eyelashes, and before Thranduil could wonder how that could be they had melted into small tears.

"Legolas?" he whispered. "Legolas, is it truly you?"

Legolas did not answer but curled up tighter against him, and Thranduil could not resist him if he had wanted to. He wrapped his arms around the shivering body, lifting it off the cold ground. "Hush now. I am here. I am here with you."

How could it be? Thranduil had thought he had it figured out. Elves can speak between minds because theirs are not confined to their bodies in the same way that men's minds are; in dreams and, with effort, in waking, they will travel far. That is how the eldest and wisest speak to each other from afar, and that was how Thranduil's mind had become trapped in this dark dream, in part created by himself, but tainted but the one that held him here. Thranduil's mind had been trapped. But Legolas should not be here with him. It was too long a journey for such a young soul; and how had he found him?

"Legolas", he said, his voice soft, "I understand that you are tired, and scared, and perhaps hurt, but I need you to tell me what has happened. You should not be here. It is dangerous. If you can, you must turn back the way you came."

Legolas shook his head, eyes shut tight as though he was in pain.

"What is the matter?"

"C-cold", came a weak answer. "D-dont want... t-to go back."

Thranduil was filled with such fear that he could hardly breathe. "What do you mean..."

A screeching, metallic rumble, loud enough to make the grasses tremble, caused his voice to falter. Legolas whimpered, hiding his face against Thranduil's chest. Thranduil closed his eyes. He knew that sound. He had heard it once before, though then at a great distance. Across the ranks of waiting soldiers, after hours of breathless waiting, that sound had filled all hearts with doubt and fear, followed as it was by the thunder of thousands of marching feet.

Taking Legolas into his arms, Thranduil stood up and turned. For so long the Black Gates had towered above the marsh as he waited in loneliness and despair for them to open. Now they did. Wheels were turning, gears driven by invisible hands, and a gap opened between the iron doors. Slowly they swung open, revealing nothing but impenetrable darkness. A wind went through the grasses. The torn banners were lifted from the ground and dissolved into ashes. The pieces of armour scattered all about stirred. With a moan the gates came to a stop, fully opened.

Thranduil held his breath and waited. How he had dreaded this moment. He wanted to run; he had always known he would want to run. Had always known he would fall to his knees and beg for his life; he could not face this, not again.

But now Legolas was here. And that changed everything.

He stood still, when a flame appeared in the middle of the darkness, and the flame took the vague shape of a person. He held his ground when the figure of fire grew in size until it was twice that of an elf.

_**I can sense your fear, Thranduil Oropherion.** _

The voice was like a gust of wind, strong enough to force Thranduil half a step backwards, dreadful enough to trap his breath inside his lungs for a moment. He tried to speak but no sound would come.

_**You have no power left. There is no way out. You have only one choice.** _

Thranduil closed his eyes. His head bowed as though by a will of its own, as though the muscles in his neck could not stand against that terrible voice.

_**You know this. You have known it for a long time. You are the last Elvenking. None shall come after you. None shall remember you.** _

It was the threat that stirred the anger within him. The Dark Lord could kill him over and over for all that Thranduil cared, but he must not touch his sons. Not Tinuhen. Not Legolas. He opened his eyes and stared into the flames.

"Release my son."

For a moment the figure of fire was silent, as though taken aback. _**Release him? And why should I do your bidding, Elvenking?**_

"My son has done you nothing. Release him!"

There was laughter, low and triumphant. _ **It was not I who trapped your son here. He came on his own. Got lost on the way to his death.**_

"Death?" Ice cold fear settling on the bottom of his stomach, Thranduil turned his head to find his son looking up at him, eyes wide yet knowing. He was no longer trembling.

_**If I release him, nothing will keep him from the Halls of Mandos. His body is weakening each moment. But submit yourself to my will, Thranduil, and I will save his life. Be my servant, and your son will live to see you rule the world at my side.** _

Do it, you fool, his father said. Do as He bids. Or do you wish to see your son die like you saw me die?

"No", Thranduil whispered. He could not see his father; perhaps he stood behind him, or perhaps there was only his voice. He had only eyes for Legolas. "I do not."

Then submit to him.

"I will not."

There is no other way!

"You are dead", Thranduil told him. "Your words are all His, and His words are all lies. I will not bend my will to you", he said, turning to the figure of flames. "If you do not release him, I will wrench him from your grip by my own hands. You will not touch him!"

The figure of flames laughed and sank through the darkness until its feet scorched the yellow grass. Thranduil turned his back on him, setting Legolas down on his feet again. Somehow he knew what must be done.

"Go ahead", he said. "Back the way you came. All the way. Go back and live."

"I don't want to go on my own."

"I will come after as soon as I can." He knew it was a lie. The Wise would tell him it was only another illusion, but Thranduil had always known who hid in the ruins if Dol Guldur, and he knew it was the same being that stood here with him now. In a fight against the Dark Lord he could not win. "Do not wait for me. I will come."

"I'm scared!"

"I know." Thranduil pressed a kiss to his forehead. How cold, how utterly cold he was. Death walked behind him like a shadow. "You have been so brave, little leaf. Just a little more now. Just a little more."

As Legolas turned to walk from him, tired feet stumbling in the grass, Thranduil felt for a moment that he could not - _would_ not let him go. Legolas was so small, so helpless. The lightest of winds would blow him off course. What if it was true, that he was dying? Stay with me, Thramduil wanted to say. Do not go.

But the Dark Lord stood behind him. The heat from his flaming spirit - a body it was not - made the grass crackle and curl.

"Go!" Thranduil said again, and Legolas went on, head bowed, ashes settling in his hair. The figure of flames moved forward, reaching out.

Thranduil caught his white-hot arm and held it.

"No", he said. "You will not touch him. You will not touch him!"

The Dark Lord struggled, tried to break free, but Thranduil grabbed his other hand and held fast, digging his heels into the ground and putting all his weight behind. He felt his palms melt and burn. The flames leapt twice as high as he stood, the hands enclosed his own but Thranduil knew that if he could just stand against it a little while, just a little more, Legolas would be gone. It was all that mattered.

A face formed within the flames, distorted and terrible, a face that had once been beautiful and looked all the more jarring for it. It growled and snarled and then with a roar it wrenched its arm free and laughed as Thranduil staggered backwards, his nostrils filled with the smell of his own burnt flesh.

_**How? How will you stop me? You think you can fight me, Elvenking?** _

"You are weak", Thranduil spat. "I saw you once and you are nothing to what you were then!" He bent, picking up the broken shaft of a spear with a rusted point still attached to the end. With all his strength he thrust it into the flames and hit something solid, something hard but yielding that cracked under the steel tip like a piece of scorched wood; the figure of flames snarled, grasped for the spear, tried to force it away from its chest but again Thranduil put his weight behind it, pushing. For a moment it moved neither way - then there was the smell of burnt wood, and the shaft broke in two. The laughter came again, flames leapt out and Thranduil backed away. The spear shaft dissolved into ashes like the banners had done. The steel point dropped to the ground.

_**Weak, perhaps, but I do not need much strength to defeat you.** _

The flames grew larger, the heat unbearable, and behind the Dark Lord darkness poured out through the gates. There was the sound again, that of thousands of marching feet, heavy on protesting ground, relentless and unyielding. They were too many. Thranduil could not fight all of them on his own. The figure of fire laughed.

Then voices were crying out, and behind Thranduil the pools of stagnant water churned and heaved; from their depths dead elves rose, hollow faces mournful and rotten, torn cloaks billowing for an invisible wind, hair of reeds flowing around their heads. Low they moaned as they formed lines once familiar, and they raised their broken spears and shattered shields and met the host of darkness head on. They were struck down, all of them, and screeching rose again. The Dark Lord laughed no more. A mace was in his hands and he turned again to Thranduil, raising it. Thranduil saw it glint above his head and brought up his hands though he knew he could never hold it back - but he never needed to. His father stood before him, and he was no longer scornful - no, this was Oropher, as Thranduil knew him in his heart; not the Oropher that the dark one had created for him. And his father grabbed the shaft of the mace and grappled with the figure of flames. Valiantly he fought, until the figure tossed him to the ground, planted his foot on his chest to keep him down, and brought the mace down to crush him. His father moaned once and went still.

The Dark Lord looked up at Thranduil and smiled.

And Thranduil ran the spear-point through his throat.

Sauron staggered. The steel went deep inside the flames and ashes that made up his body, and Thranduil pushed it deeper yet, coming to stend chest to chest with the Dark Lord; fire caught his hair and his clothes and his skin, and there again was the sickening smell of burning flesh. But Sauron screamed in pain, and the scream turned into a choked rattle as his throat was torn apart. Burning hands grabbed Thranduil's and tried to tear the point away; then they grabbed instead his for face, and the pain was unbearable, and Thranduil could not get any air.

He staggered too, near uncounscious. But when he broke free long enough to look over his shoulder, he saw that Legolas was gone. Maybe he would find the way back. Maybe he would not go to the Halls. As long as Legolas had a chance, nothing else mattered; Sauron could kill him here and now, or torture him until the end of time. It did not matter.

_**And thus you will die, Thranduil, last of the Elvenkings,**_ the Dark Lord said.

"And thus", he croaked, "I will."

And that was when the light came. It broke through the shadows like the sun after a storm.

"Thranduil", the light said. "You have been dreaming for very long. It is time you wake up now."

Thranduil was on his knees, heaving though his dream-body was empty; the figure of flames had backed away. "I cannot. I have tried."

"Then I shall help you", said the light, and a hand sought Thranduil's, and he took it, and was no longer tired. The shadows were giving way. But the figure of flames gnarled and roared and the fire leapt high.

_**You cannot defeat me, Peredhel. You dare not.** _

The figure of light threw its head back, and something bright flashed on his finger - or so Thranduil thought, but it was gone too quickly for him to be certain. Then he was pulled up, and up, and up into the light.

* * *

It was like embroidery. The needle dancing in and out of the fabric, leaving a trace of red yarn where it went through. Like dancing, feet light on the ashen ground, every step calculated. And it was dreadful, and ugly, and mechanic, and Merilin knew she would be sick over it afterwards - but she thought of the needle, and she thought of the dance, and before she knew it it was all over.

The plan had been simple, and it had been successful, as simple plans are wont to be. The orcs followed the tracks they had lain out for them into the clearing, and they stopped before Merilin - that was only part of the plan that could have gone truly wrong. When she raised her sword, elves hiding by the opening behind the orcs pulled at their ropes and brought down the trees they had hewn halfway through before. Trapped, the orcs knew not yet what was happening, and before they understood lights blazed up as the elves among the trees uncovered their lanterns and kicked the fires to life. Arrows prepared with dry grass and birchbark caught fire in an instant, and on Duneirien's command they flew high and swift, striking the ground around the orcs and trapping them once more in flames. With the opening blocked and fire on their flanks there was but one way they could go: forward, towards the dais upon which Merilin stood, no longer afraid but tense as a bowstring. She opened her arms as though to invite them, but closed them just as quickly when they came: dropping low as her father had once taught her, she steeled herself for their charge. But she was not alone. When the orcs neared the dais, the elves behind her burst from the trees with their swords and shields, Brand screaming in their midst; and Ninniach and her elves charged from the left with their spears and pikes. Merilin would never forget the confusion turning to fear in the orcs eyes. Brand later told her he had never heard anyone laugh like she had, but she could not remember laughing at all.

But simple as it was the plan did not give them any more advantage than that of surprise, and the slaughter was like that of any even battle, slow and tiring. Merilin pulled her sword out of the chest of an orc with a sickening wet sound as though the bared flesh wanted to suck the blade back in, and a fan of red drops scattered from it when she raised it high; strands of hair that had come loose from her braids blew into her eyes, and she jerked her head free of them. Her blade met another, the force of the impact trembling through her arms, but she was not yet tired. Her veins were filled with the fire of battle-fury - the one they told about in songs of glorious battle, and the only thing the songs got right. She drove the other sword down and away, backed and swung, parried and thrust. Her blade went through leather and skin and flesh and sinew. Red eyes met hers before they lost focus.

" _Merilin!_ " Ninniach cried behind her, and Merilin turned again - and there he was, the adder-eyed orc that wore her father's ruined crown.

"You!" she screamed. "You!"

The orc laughed at her and lifted his mace. Merilin ducked as he swung at her, and the mace passed above her head so close that she could feel the gust of wind in her hair; her arm flew out before she knew it, and her shield struck the orc in the chest with such force he lost his breath.

"You!" she roared, pulling back and striking him again over the chin as he doubled. The silver crown glinted in the light of the fires and filled her with a rage that she had never known before; it was not his to take, it belonged to Greenwood, to her father, _he had no right_. The rage drew her on. She raised her sword and swung it sideways. One clean cut, and his throat was off. Blood bubbled into his mouth and gushed down his jaw. She took the crown from his head before he fell to the ground before her feet.

"I told you I would kill you", she mumbled to his unhearing ears. "You should have listened."

It was a moment's triumph that could have cost her life, and when Ninniach screamed again the remembered where she was. Swirling around Merilin was still too slow to block the scimitar coming towards her. For a moment she was sure she would die: then the orc went stiff, gasping for air, and the scimitar never hit its mark. Ninniach pushed her spear all the way through, then angled it down and let the orc slide off of it. She gave Merilin a wolf-grin, shaking the hair out of her face with a toss of her head.

"Careful", she said, as calmly as though Merilin had just put a misplaced stitch in her embroidery. "Never lose focus during a battle."

Then there went a shiver through the trees. The orcs did not seem to notice, but the elves did. Something lifted - the air was suddenly easier to breath, the darkness not so thick, and deep in the ground something came alive that had been slumbering. The Shadow - it trembled, wavered like a candle in a draft.

_Then_ the orcs noticed. They noticed that their leader were dead. They noticed that the power that had sent them on their errand no longer stood behind them. A wave of fear surged through them. Merilin lifted the silver crown above her head.

"Greenwood! Greenwood the Great!"

"Greenwood the Great!" Ninniach echoed. The shout was taken up by one elf after another until the sound alone of their combined voices was loud enough to make the trees shiver. And the trees answered. Their voices were still faint, but the elves heard them in their hearts and in their bones: _Greenwood! Greenwood the Great!_ The orcs fled, some by leaping over the faltering fires, but few came far; the undergrowth hindered them, the entwined branches blocked their path, roots caught their ankles. They shoved each other as fear turned to panic, and the elves laughed behind them and pursued.

Merilin did not follow. She was tired now but stood on the dais and listened until the dying wail of the last orc echoed and was gone. Then it became very quiet. In the silence, there was a humming of sorts, like the long, slow breaths of something alive. It was the forest, of course. It was awake, if barely. The Shadow was not gone, but it no longer felt as though it watched - instead it seemed to have turned its gaze somewhere else.

And they had won. It had not been an easy victory, nor a cheap one. They would have little time to enjoy it, for as soon as they could they must move out. But they _had_ won.

With the pursuit over, and in a confused blend of triumph and grief, the elves began the long slow task of tending the injured and the dead, and comfort the dying. Merilin stood alone on the dais, her mind working to count the days until they could reach home - would the Shadow have come even further by now, or would it be slowed by their victory? Would there be other orcs, or spiders? It was a long way back, and they were no longer very fit for another fight. How far until they could send a message back home to ask for reinforcements?

"Ninniach", she said as the copper-haired elf stepped up onto the dais beside her. Ninniach had a cut across her cheek, a slash of red among the pink burn scars, but took no heed of it. She was grinning, and held something behind her back.

"My lady?"

"What now?"

Her question was so vague that Ninniach tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Did I prove it?" Merilin lowered her voice, didn't want anyone else to hear. "That it is not a defeat to follow us? That we will fight as you want to? Ninniach - will you come with me home?"

"Home", Ninniach said, and her voice was wistfully soft. But she did not answer right away. Instead she said: "The orcs will come back. There will be more of them, and they will be angry. They will burn everything they see."

Merilin was silent, and waited.

"The spiders will spread and breed. The Shadow will deepen. There will be hardly anything to hunt, no plants to eat, no water one dares to drink." Ninniach made a gesture as though it should be obvious where she was getting to. "There was never a choice. We all knew it, but we refused to see it. Perhaps we will all see it now when we know what it is we are leaving for." She looked up, the smile back. Then she brought out what she had been holding behind her back: a crown of red berries on dry stalks, picked from the trees that grew around the clearing. "Yes, your highness", she said and put it gently on Merilin's head. "We will follow you home."

* * *

The dead grasses and sick pools were gone, and so was the figure in the fire, but Legolas wished he could go back. He didn't understand why father had told him to leave. He had promised to come after him, but he hadn't, and now Legolas was back in the dark and the cold and he no longer knew where to go. He was so tired.

Then at last - it felt as though he had walked for a hunded years - he came to a door that stood ajar, spilling light over a doorstep. Frowning he walked towards it. When he came closer he saw beyond the door a great stone hall, its walls hung with tapestries, and others walked in there - shapes as light as feathers, deep in their own thoughts. Rivendell, he thought. It looked a little bit like Rivendell. Light fell on his face. He could feel the warmth coming from the hall and wanted so badly to go inside - but as he stumbled closer a man clad in a long black cloak appeared in the doorway, and he was shaking his head.

"Go back, young one", he said, "this road is not for you."

"I've nowhere to go."

"Go back", said the cloaked man. "This road is not for you."

"But I'm weary!"

The cloaked man shook his head again. He had a solemn face, and his voice was deep and mournful like the ringing of a lone bell, but Legolas would never be able to describe him. "Go to the light, young one. Your brother is waiting for you. Go back to the light."

When he thought of Tinuhen, Legolas could hear him call his name - faintly, but loud enough that he could tell in which direction it came from. He gave a last look to the feather-light figures behind the cloaked man, then turned and walked towards Tinuhen's voice. On the way he picked up his poor battered body, and returned to the world of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for not updating in so long! I had such a hectic Christmas and January, and then I got hooked on roleplaying on tumblr, and it was simply so difficult to get back into writing on this story regularly again. I swear that I still have all the intentions to finish this story, and that I will try to update it regularly again - life isn't so hectic for me now, so if I can only stop being incredibly lazy, that should be possible.
> 
> This is also why I haven't replied to any reviews on the last chapter. They were all very much appreciated!
> 
> And as some of you have guessed by now, next chapter will not be the last. Now there are two chapters left, however. Thank you for your incredible patience, dears!


	26. At Last

There were people talking, lots of people, but all of the seemed to be standing very far away. Legolas could not make out any words. He wanted to open his eyes and see who they were, but his eyelids were too heavy - and then it was as though he drifted away, back into a dark sleep.

But he did not dream again, and when he woke a second time he didn't feel as though a lot of time had passed - though enough for it to be quiet, and for daylight to colour the inside of his eyelids red. He lay still for a while, too comfortable to move. He was warm, and he felt like he had not been warm for a very long time. At present, he could not quite remember why.

Then, because sleep did not come and fetch him right away, Legolas tried again to open his eyes - and looked, blinking, at the ceiling, which was streaked with sunlight through the branches of a tree outside the window.

He turned his head to the side. He didn't recognise the room, and that worried him for a moment, but then he saw that he was not alone. Tinuhen slept in a chair beside his bed, slumped over the armrest. He looked _very_ tired, and his hair was messier than Legolas had thought Tinuhen's hair could even become. One of his hands rested on the bed, not very far from Legolas' own hand.

Should he wake him? Legolas wasn't sure Tinuhen would like that. Besides, he was very tired too.

But he longed to be close to someone, and though he did not manage to move his body, he could move his hand a little, until it touched Tinuhen's. It felt better that way.

When he woke the third time, he felt ever so much better, and Tinuhen was gone. Instead, sitting in the armchair with his long nose deep in a book and his staff leaning against the wall, was Gandalf.

* * *

"My dear, dear boy!" Gandalf put the book aside and looked younger and happier than Legolas could remember him. Even his bushy eyebrows looked happy. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine", Legolas said automatically - but Gandalf always knew when you were lying. "Well... maybe not entirely fine. I'm - that is - " He screwed up his face, and then he understood why it was so hard to pinpoint where he wasn't fine. That was because his whole body hurt - though dully, like something that is nearly but not quite healed. "I _will_ be fine though. Won't I?"

Gandalf smiled, but he nodded in a way that told Legolas his question wasn't unfounded. "You will."

"And... what happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I - I remember most things", Legolas said, frowning again. "About the Council and Echail and - and Tilwine and Scead... but I don't understand everything. Is Echail alright?"

"He is."

"He tried to save my life."

"I know he did." Gandalf smiled again. "It was bravely done, don't you think?"

"Yes. I do. And..." Legolas pushed himself up on his elbows, and Gandalf hurried to adjust the pillow behind his back so that he could sit up instead of lying down. Now he had a better view over his room - it wasn't the room in the guest quarters that he had slept in, but one that looked a lot more like Elladan's room in the healing ward. When he looked at his hands, there were cuts and bruises almost everywhere the bandages didn't cover, and he had bandages on his shoulder too that he could feel under the linen shirt. He didn't pull up his sleeves to see how far up the bandages went. There were some things he didn't need to know right way.

"Where's everyone else?"

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, where to start - the gondorians are probably in Gondor, while the Lake-men..."

" _Gandalf._ "

"Yes, yes. Let me see - your Greenwood friends are safe and sound here in Rivendell. So is Echail, and Radagast is still here. Arahad is also here, but not all of the rangers I think you know. Hm -"

"The twins."

"Are quite fine - though they were mightily upset when you were gone."

It sounded as though there was more to it than that - but it also sounded as though Gandalf would not say it. "And Tinuhen? I woke up and he was here, but he was sleeping."

The wizard nodded. "Your brother has been with you a lot, but Elrond managed to persuade him that he should take a bath. Even elves do not go through caves without becoming dirty. He was reluctant to leave, poor boy - he is devastated for what happened to you, and blames himself, of course."

"Are you sure? That doesn't sound like Tinuhen."

"Tinuhen has been very caring", said Gandalf softly. "He has always been, Legolas, but he did not know it himself. I think you will find him a bit changed, for the better."

Legolas bit his lip. It was hard to believe. But he remembered - vaguely - Tinuhen finding him between those stones below the cliff and lifting him into his arms... He tried to remember what happened next, but all that came to mind was Tilwine bending over him with the dagger in his hand, and Legolas didn't want to think of that.

Still, he must know -

"Where are Tilwine and Scead?"

Gandalf sighed, and looked out the window. An apple tree grew outside it, and the snow on its branches gleamed in the afternoon sun.

"There are", the wizard said, "many things that you must learn in due time, Legolas. You have been sleeping for a long time, and you have been very badly injured. I do not want to burden you with all that has happened just yet. Do you understand?"

"I do, but - "

"Scead and Tilwine cannot harm you", Gandalf said. "Glorfindel and the twins and many other elves went after them, but they did not catch them. They are far away though, and will not come back. Is that enough - for now?"

It wasn't. Legolas didn't want to know if they were far away, he wanted to know if they would be alright. But he did not ask. It would, like Gandalf said, show eventually.

He let his head sink into the pillow and pulled his left leg up - the other wouldn't move, and he didn't try to force it. A kestrel called outside the window. He recognised it.

"I had this dream", he said.

"A dream?"

"There was a door, and a man... in a cloak." This memory was unclear, and Legolas had to think hard to remember. "And there was a big room behind the door. Or a hall. There were people in it, or... shapes."

Gandalf leaned closer.

"I wanted to go inside but he - the man in the cloak - he told me I could not come that way. So I turned back."

"I see", said Gandalf slowly. "Well, young one, I think - I think you shall not have to worry about that dream returning. You are here now, and that is what matters. Speaking of which, there are some others - well, there are of course many others who want to meet you. But Tinuhen will come once he's done washing himself, and there are two certain elves I promised to tell as soon as you were awake. Are you -"

"Wait. There's something more. There was - there was another dream. I'm not sure if it was a dream, though."

"Then what was it?"

Legolas bit his lip. Then he told Gandalf about the dead grasses and the pools with lights beside them, and the armour and weapons scattered about. He told him how he'd found father kneeling in the grass, and father had wanted him to go back - but then there was that loud sound like metal gears turning, and the gates opened, and there was darkness, and then... then there was _fire_.

Legolas was sure Gandalf would say he had made it all up, but the wizard nodded.

"It was a dream, of sorts", he said. "But it was not your dream. It was your fathers. He was trapped in it, and you with him."

"How?"

"I am afraid not even that Wise can answer that with certainty", Gandalf said. "You were very ill - you had hit your head hard when you fell, and you were cold and exhausted. You could not hold on to your mind. It slipped from your body, and - you thought of your father, I suppose, and your mind found _his_. The mind follows its own paths, and they cannot always be understood. Those dead grasses and the gates - they were a nightmare, but they had become real, or at least to Thranduil they had, by the being who's voice you heard. It was a trap meant for Thranduil, but you were ensnared in it."

"Then why did they go away?"

"Elrond." Gandalf's smile returned, thought it was faint. "His mind was on a long journey too. From what Radagast had told him about your father's ailment, Elrond knew that something was wrong, and he sought Thranduil out in the thought - only to find something very dark and dangerous with him. But he pressed on, and in the end, he freed both you and your father."

"I thought Elrond was bad", Legolas confessed. "Not - not bad like the traitor. But I thought he hated Greenwood and didn't want us on his Council."

"He did not want you on the Council, but not because he hates Greenwood - but because the Council had agreed not to trust the Elven King and Queen. Not yet. There was too much at stake. But lord Elrond is wiser than most Wise, you see, for he knows when he is _wrong_ as well as he knows when he is right. Greenwood, I am sure, will hear again from him very soon."

He said no more and Legolas supposed he would be told very little about the dealings of the Council. He did not mind - he was mightily tired of all those Wise people, and he did not care what happened, as long as what he had been there for was done. And it seemed it would be. Tinuhen might not have been there in time, but Legolas had made the Council listen. For him, that part of the story was all over. Tinuhen could take care of the rest.

"Gandalf", he said. "When Tinuhen found me - I don't remember all that very well. But there was one thing... one thing that was strange. There was someone missing."

Gandalf went still, and his eyes became very sad.

Legolas knew, but he couldn't believe it.

He remembered, dimly, Tinuhen lifting him into his arms. He remembered - as though all that time he walked through the snow, before he found his father, a part of his mind had been awake and half aware - Hethulin looking down at him with tears freezing on her cheeks, and he remembered Laeros singing softly as they rode under tall trees.

But he did not remember Beren being there. The part of his mind that was awake had looked for him, longed for him - but not found him.

"Gandalf", Legolas said, and his voice became almost a whisper. "Is Beren..."

Gandalf bowed his head.

"The others..."

"All the others are fine. A few of them had injuries, but none that will not heal, and they have recovered swiftly from their hunger and exhaustion. Laeros is much better than anyone expected."

"But Beren is..."

"Is dead, yes." Gandalf looked at him, and there were tears in his eyes. "I cannot keep that from you. I am very sorry, Legolas."

Legolas swallowed. Up until then, he had always believe that as soon as it was all over, everything would go back to normal. He understood now that it wouldn't. It never would. Beren was dead; and so was Tuiw and Quick-wing. Tilwine and Scead wouldn't come back. Laeros, he thought, would never be the same.

And somewhere deep inside him, something was irreparably broken. Legolas knew it, but he didn't feel it yet. There would be a time for that too, he supposed.

"Now, then", Gandalf said softly. "About those two I promised to tell when you were awake. Would you like to meet them now?"

Legolas was quiet for a moment, and then he managed a faint smile. "I think I do."

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir didn't shout or cheer like a lot of other people did later when they found Legolas was awake. They didn't even say anything at first. Elladan took Gandalf's chair, and Elrohir sat down on the edge of Legolas' bed, all the way down by the far end, where Legolas' feet would have been if he had been taller. Then they sat in silence, until Legolas became tired of it.

"Aren't you going to say you're glad that I'm awake?"

He could just as well have taken Gandalf's staff and said some spell, that was how great the change was. Elladan actually laughed - a real, genuine laugh, if a bit subdued - and agreed and said that yes, they should, and they _were_. Very glad, in fact.

"Aren't we?" he asked, and looked at Elrohir.

Elrohir did not even glance at him. "Yes."

"He is glad", Elladan said. "Just not very talkative. It is best to leave him alone." He looked sad, and so did his father, who had entered the room at the same time but lingered in the doorway.

Legolas reached for Elladan's hand, and Elladan took it. He wasn't sure what to say. There was so much, and he was afraid.

_I don't care if you are glad for my sake. I want you to be glad for your own sake. I don't want you to be angry anymore. I don't want you to hunt orcs._

"Elladan", he said. "Did you, uh... did you go after Scead and Tilwine?"

Elladan flinched, as though he did not like to think about it.

"Gandalf said you didn't find them."

"We did not."

"I don't believe you." Legolas looked at him until Elladan met his gaze again. "They could never have hidden from you. Never. You found them. I know you did."

Elladan glanced at his brother, who said nothing. Then he looked at his father, standing by the window, and then at Gandalf by the fire-place, and then back to Legolas. He took a deep breath and nodded. "We did."

"Did you - did you kill them?"

"No." Elladan dug his thumb nail into the skin on his wrist until it started bleeding. "Does - does that bother you?"

In the corner of his eye Legolas saw that both Gandalf and Elrond were listening attentively. This was something they had not known. He could tell that Elrohir wastense by the way he sat, but still he said nothing. Elladans' eyes were desperate.

Legolas shook his head. "I'm - glad you did not kill them. They wouldn't have deserved that. At least Tilwine wouldn't, but I don't think Scead was bad either, not really."

"I don't think so either", Elladan whispered.

"Did you know Tilwine spared my life?"

"I knew one of them did. The snow around those boulders was full of horse tracks from when your brother found you, and Glorfindel and the other elves left as soon as they'd found the tracks that led away, but Elrohir and I stayed. And we saw that someone had been standing just outside where you lay. There was no way he wouldn't have seen you. So we knew."

"But you hunted them down."

"And confronted them", Elladan said. "We found them with their backs to a ravine. They had nowhere to run. We could have killed them - but we wanted to spare their lives. And we wanted to question them. So we said we would taken them to Rivendell - and they turned and were about to jump. They would have killed themselves, only to escape whatever fate they thought awaited them here. So we let them go. We let them go so they would not die."

A heavy silence fell after he had said that. It was the traitor they were afraid of, Legolas thought. The Old One. They must have thought even lord Elrond could not protect them from him.

Maybe they were right. After all, they still had no idea who the Old One was.

"I'm glad you did spare them, though", Legolas said. "And - and I think it was very bravely done. Because you didn't know what I would think of it or Glorfindel or anyone else. You just did what was right."

Elladan smiled again. And then another miracle happened. Elrohir looked up as though he was about to say something, but no words came out, and instead he made an odd, strangled sound like something between a sob and a hiccup - and in two steps lord Elrond had crossed the room and swept him into his arms. And Elrohir didn't try to break out, but collapsed against his father's chest and cried like one who has not cried in years.

* * *

All his plans would have been overthrown, Gandalf mused later, if not for Radagast. For although Gandalf held the youngest prince of Greenwood in high regard - as did both Glorfindel and Erestor, and as had lord Elrond come to do in time - he would not have thought Legolas able to speak before the White Council. No doubt Legolas knew about the Shadow, but how much did he understand?

Very much, as it turned out. Though not always visible, the child possessed a clarity of mind far beyond his age. It was perception and intuition, more than true wisdom, that guided him. No small feat had he accomplished with it.

And Radagast alone had seen it. Radagast, who saw the importance of the littlest of things, of birds and plants and insects, and scrawny elflings with grass on their knees and twigs in their hair. Neither Gandalf nor Saruman nor any of the other Wise knew to appreciate those things as they should. That was Radagast's strength.

There was, of course, much left to do - and much to find out. Tilwine and Scead had slipped their net, and with them the real traitor, the head behind it all - the Old One. Who they were not even Saruman seemed to guess. He had shut himself up in the astronomy tower again pouring over old tomes, but what he expected to find there, Gandalf did not know - not the Old One, anyway, he thought.

But the Wise had another ally now. It stood clear they needed Greenwood as much as Greenwood needed them. Messages across the Mountains would be more frequent and more friendly than ever in the years to come - and hopefully the Old One would have no choice but to go into hiding and allow it for a while, for now they knew of him.

All this had been discussed and would be discussed for many days to come. Yet as for now, Gandalf felt certain that things were turning to look good again.

He commented as much to Elrond, who walked beside him. It had been a reluctant father who left his sons, but the elf lord was needed once more.

"Ah", lord Elrond said. He looked pleased, and some of the care-worn lines around his mouth had softened. "Yes, Mithrandir, I do agree. Although we know now we stand before two enemies - the Old One, and the Sorcerer in Dol Guldur - and their power, I believe, is great, I believe we can take them both. There is more hope now than there has been for many a year.

"The Sorcerer", Gandalf said. "Do you know who he is?"

There was a pause. "I know why Thranduil believes what he believes. I might have come to the same conclusion - had I not _seen him fall_. But it will show. Indeed - it will show."

No doubt it would, Gandalf thought, but it must show in time. It seemed an inappropriate moment to come with dark predictions, however, and he let it pass.

"As for Thranduil", he said instead. "Will you speak to him again?"

"I will. Did you speak to Legolas about him?"

"Hm?"

"Elbereth", lord Elrond said. "Did you not think of telling the child his father has awakened?"

* * *

"So", Thranduil said, letting his fingers twine with Gwiwileth's. "It is all over."

Lord Elrond's voice, calm as always but bristling with joy beneath the surface, had left, but the news he had brought were only beginning to sink in. For the second time that winter he had sent his mind on the dangerous and tiring journey to Greenwood; this time, however, he had found no shadow and no ill dreams, and no dark being had come to challenge him. He had found Thranduil awake, and Gwiwileth with him, and he had spoken to them both.

Gwiwileth now shook her head so that her dark hair danced about it, but she smiled. "It will be over when our children have come home. For now, let us be content that all is _fine_. They live, and you live."

"And _you_ live."

"Why, yes - " she frowned - "but there was never any danger for _my_ life."

Thranduil squeezed her hand. He thought that had been that worst part of it all to her - that all she did and could do was to sit by and wait as her daughter left for the shadow-wood, and her husband lay sick and perhaps dying, and word of Tuiw's recovered body reached the palace like a premonition of what awaited her sons and their company. Gwiwileth would have fought, if only there had been something to fight. But Thranduil's enemy she could not reach, and she could not leave the Mountain halls to go after Merilin, for they needed their queen. She had stayed, and she had kept spirits up and fear away among the elves in this the darkest of many winters; but her own spirit none had comforted, and her own fears had not diminished.

Through the southern window they now could see the shadow, closer than it had been that autumn, but not longer marching forward. A messenger had reached them the day before in the form of a barn owl, and finally they'd had news about Merilin. The letter had been written in her own hand, confident and curly, on the piece of parchment had been damp and the ink had run: but her words thought few had been triumphant.

_All are well_ , she had written. _We have fought and defeated the orcs, and the shadow-elves will be joining will return home as soon as we can. Send supplies and reinforcements, if you can, and we will meet them on the road._

"The orcs defeated!" Gwiwileth had said when she read it. "That girl! Always I told her - and she wouldn't listen."

"Well, now she knows", Thranduil said. "Now she knows what she can do. And she lives."

"She lives", Gwiwileth had repeated, and her voice had become a whisper. The guilt on her face when she told Thranduil she had sent their daughter into the shadow-wood; the fear when she said they had not heard from her since - how many nights had she lay sleepless and alone and thought of her family that in a single blow she may be about to lose? They were there in her eyes; nights long enough to age her a thousand winters.

But it was over now - or at least, it was fine. Merilin was coming home. Tinuhen had arrived in Rivendell. Legolas had awakened. Once the High Pass was open, they too would come home.

"I wonder", Thranduil said. "Lord Elrond sounded very glad. Gladder than he has sounded in his letters ever since Celebrían was taken."

"Perhaps", said Gwiwileth, "there is something that has helped him heal. Something - or someone, that had made him feel less helpless, and more of use."

It would be long before they learnt the full truth - that Elladan and Elrohir had, at last, forgiven both their father and themselves for what happened to their mother, and that though it would be slow, healing had finally come to the House of Elrond. At that time, it did not matter. Their children would return to Greenwood, and that was the important thing.

Soon every elf of the Mountain knew it, and there was joy in the Halls such as there had not been for a long time. Still, the worry lingered as it would until every elf that had left this winter had returned - or been accounted for, at least. That Beren would not come back, they already knew, and though little was known of the battle between Merilin and the orcs in the shadow-wood, Thranduil held no hope that no lives had been lost at all. Lord Elrond had not mentioned Laeros at all, but that he would return with Tinuhen and Legolas in spring seemed unlikely.

And there was, of course, the way back. It had proven more dangerous than ever before. No peace of mind, no full nights of sleep would anyone have before all were back.

Then at last, some seven days after Merilin's letter arrived, a party of hunters returning told that they had spied the princess and her company upon the road not far from the Mountain. They had moved slowly, for children and cattle and many wounded were among them, but the reinforcements sent out seemed to have met them in time. They would arrive, the hunters said, in no more than two hours.

The elves of the Mountain were no less excited because they had _known_ the warriors were coming back. Thranduil did not think any work got done while they waited - it might have seemed as though chandeliers were being polished, plates cleaned and fires stoked for dinner, clothes washed and bridge guarded, but in truth, those were just excuses for the hands while the mind was on other things. And it became laundry day, all of a sudden, since that meant the laundry elves had to go down to the river, from which they could overlook the road. The guard by the gates doubled, without anyone giving the order. Some elves took it upon themselves to shovel the courtyard, nevermind that had been done that very morning and it hadn't snowed since then.

The trees waited too, branches stirring with expectation; a whisper and a wave that grew and grew until all elves were on the courtyard, or on the riverbanks to see what was going on. And then they came. First one, ten then and then all of a sudden there were at least a hundred elves, some moving through the branches above, others on the mountain path. Merilin walked first. Her leather jerkin was notched and her clothes torn; she had one arm in bandages. But she glowed. Like a girl on her first ball - and like a woman, bold and proud. On her pale hair a crown of red leaves and berries lay; another crown, dented and twisted and made of silver, she held in her hand.

Across the bridge they went, and under the arch, and stopped at last below the stair where Thranduil and Gwiwileth stood. Duneirien and Brand, equally battle-worn, flanked Merilin, Duneirien with a nasty cut on her forehead. Among the elves behind them, some looked suspiciously around as though they had never seen the place and knew not what to think of it; they were pale and dark-eyed, clad in furs and skins, and most of them carried bows or spears. Children there were also, some so small they must be carried on their mother's backs, and sheep and goats and dogs and poultry.

"Father", said Merilin again, "mother." She waited until all was quiet. It did not take long. "The elves of the shadow-wood have come to stay with us. Together we defeated the orcs that attacked us, but many of their homes have been destroyed, and the Shadow reaches further than will lend their help to the Mountain on one condition."

Beside Thranduil, he heard Gwiwileth draw a deep breath; in joy or in shock he could not tell. He longed to ask so many questions, and most of all he wanted to hold Merilin in his arms, but instead he asked: "And what is their condition?"

"That Greenwood, even the place we call the shadow-wood, is not abandoned." Another elf stepped up beside Merilin, a tall elf with copper hair braided away from the half of her face that had been burnt. "The Shadow will spread, whatever we do, but the forest is not lost because of it. We must help were it can. Ease the damage, and care for the trees and the animals. Most of all, we must not hide, and we will not flee again."

She looked more at Gwiwileth than Thranduil when she spoke; and Gwiwileth turned to her husband and in her eyes he saw the decision already made. He nodded; even if there had been a choice, he would not have chosen differently.

"And so it shall be", Gwiwileth said, "and I think not anyone disagrees, for we have learnt that hiding and fleeing is of no avail; and that fighting is possible."

Brand, forgetting his place, cheered at that; and so did many others, and the elves of the shadow-wood smiled their tight-lipped smiles, and Merilin laughed. Then Thranduil forgot himself, too, and he stepped down and took her in his arms; and she was so thin, hardened and slender, and he lifted her into the air and spun her around. Her arms were strong and her laughter darker than it had been before. She had not returned a warrior, he thought, because Merilin had no love for war and never would have. But she had returned a leader.

When he set her down on the floor, she held out the silver crown to him. Gwiwileth took one glance at it and shook her head. "I fear it is beyond repair."

"Well - perhaps it was time for a new crown anyway", Thranduil said. It had been his father's, and he grieved its loss, but not for any other reason. "It always felt more like Doriath than Greenwood, and Gwiwileth has never had anything similar." He looked at his daughter. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all", she said and swept the crown of red leaves from her hair. It was a little too small for Thranduil, but it could be remade. It was light and comfortable, and he thought it would not be so much of a pain to wear on long meetings. Gwiwileth took one look a him and readjusted it a little.

Thranduil turned to the crowd. He supposed that he should hold some kind of speech, but at that moment he only wanted to talk to Merilin; and the newly returned elves must be tired and hungry anyway. Short speeches were far better.

"Elves of Greenwood", he said, and looked specifically at the elves of the shadow-wood. "Welcome home.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, guys!
> 
> The word count on this story is above that of the Return of the King. If I knew I was actually going to write a novella-length story... I'm not sure I would've done it. So I'm glad I didn't know ;)


	27. And Back Again

Legolas woke by voices down below.

He lay under the silk blanket, curled up on the side like a badger in its den, and listened to the sounds of heavy footsteps on the courtyard, the doors opening, someone running up the stair. A horse neighed a greeting from the stable. Marigold, he thought. Then it might be Arahad returning.

He nestled down deeper under the blanket and tried to go back to sleep, but it was difficult now that he was awake. His shoulder ached and he had to roll over to the other side. Now the moonlight fell on his face. He would not have minded; but he could not shut his eyes, because he kept imagining a dark shape blocking the moonlight out, and Tilwine bending down, dagger in hand, and the look in his eyes...

The voices had left the courtyard. It was very quiet. He rolled over again, but his shoulder wouldn't stop aching.

In the alcove next to his he heard Tinuhen move under the covers, then his bare feet steeping lightly on the stone floor. The faint glow of embers in the fire-place in the parlour grew as Tinuhen blew life in them. A moment later he stood by Legolas' bed with a lit candle in his hand. He set it down on the nightstand.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"No." It was true. Legolas hadn't had any bad dreams for three full nights now. "But I can't sleep."

Tinuhen pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. "I'll be here until you've fallen asleep again."

Legolas wanted to ask him to read a story, but Tinuhen looked very tired, and the sooner he fell asleep the sooner Tinuhen could go back to bed. "Tinuhen?"

"Yes?"

"Can you close the curtains?"

"Of course."

But before Tinuhen could move to do that, there was a knock on the door. They were both startled. Tinuhen left the candle on the nightstand and went to open, while Legolas pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to see who it was. There was a faint glow from someone else's candle, and Echail and Tinuhen whispered for a moment before Tinuhen returned. His eyes were downcast.

"Hethulin and the others have returned", he said. "They - found him."

"Is he here?"

"Yes. I am going to go down and help... take him inside."

Legolas bit his lip.

"Echail says that the cold... well, the cold has made him change very little. It looks almost like he is sleeping. I think everyone will want to say goodbye to him. You do not have to look at him, of course, but if you want to come down - I mean it is very late, and you _should_ be in bed, but..."

"I want to come with you down."

Tinuhen helped him from the bed and fetched his crutches while Legolas stood on one leg and pulled a gown over his nightshirt. Echail waited for them outside the door. The mark of Marigold's hoof on his forehead was fading to a faint scar surrounded by yellow bruising, and the hair was growing back where lord Elrond had to cut it for the stitches. He didn't say much to Legolas as they walked, but he gave him a wary smile, which Legolas returned. Although lord Elrond said his leg would heal, Legolas was glad he wasn't the only one in Rivendell who limped, and he thought Echail was glad for the very same thing.

Echail led them to a room where there was a table in the middle, though the chairs had been stowed away. Hethulin was there, still with the bow and the quiver strapped to her back and snow melting from her boots, and so was Arahad and the other rangers that had left with her, and Maidh, who was almost crying again, and some of the other wood-elves. More were coming. They were all in various states of undress, in nightgowns or linen shirts or with wrinkled tunics over their smocks. When all were there, Arahad bowed his head to them and left with Echail and the rangers. Now there were only the wood-elves.

Beren lay on the table, wrapped in a blanket. Legolas knew it was him, because the blanket was too short and did not completely cover his boots. The snow had been brushed off of it, but tiny glistening stars were still left in the folds, and some of them had melted into perfectly rounded drops that made the blanket look as though pearls had been sewn onto it.

Up until then, Legolas had not wanted to believe that Beren was dead. He had thought he could pretend that Beren was only on vacation and visiting the Grey Havens as he'd always said he wanted to do. But Beren was here now, and he was dead.

When all were gathered around, Tinuhen reached out and folded the blanket aside so that Beren's face became visible. After a moment, Legolas looked up at it. In the dim light from just a few candles, Beren was very pale, but it did look as though he was sleeping very deeply, and if so his sleep was peaceful. Sometimes, when he thought of Beren laying there alone at the feet of the Dimrill Stair, in the open because the ground had been too frozen to dig through, Legolas could not help but think of Tuiw - the worms crawling over his bared bones and the moths eating at his snowy white hair. Now he knew it was not so for Beren. Beren would be buried properly - not at home, and that was sad, but Tinuhen said he would surely understand - and if worms did eat him, it was only so he could become earth and so that flowers could grow on him, and no one would have to see it.

Tinuhen reached out again and stroke Beren's cheek, and when Legolas looked up at him he saw that tears were running down his face. That was when they started running down Legolas' face too. He was afraid that Beren would be very cold if he touched him too, so instead he stroke a braid of Beren's dark hair, while Hethulin held his crutch. Then she reached out and did the same.

When they'd all done their good byes, the wood-elves looked to Tinuhen as though expecting him to say something. Even Hethulin did; Legolas had noticed she and Tinuhen looked at each other often, and in a whole other way than before. But Tinuhen, for once, was at a loss for words. A long while he just stood there and they could hear the shiver in his breaths.

Then his right hand sought Legolas', and his left hand sought Naru's. And then Naru took Faerdis' hand, and Legolas took Hethulin's, until they stood in a circle hand in hand, just like they had once did when they were about to leave Greenwood, just as Beren had wanted them to do then. Tinuhen had not been in that circle, but he must have seen them doing it.

"I don't think anyone could have guessed what would happen on this journey", Tinuhen said after a while. His voice was thick. "Not even Beren. But I think... I think he knew that whatever happened, we would stay strong if we stuck together. We would make it through not as many, but as one. And we did."

"Thanks to you", Hethulin said.

"I don't know about that", Tinuhen said and smiled and sobbed. "I think it was thanks to Beren. And to all of us. What matters is that we are here. All of us now. And we will come home. Beren will come with us in our hearts." He looked at Laeros, and Laeros looked back. "All will come home in time."

He squeezed Legolas' hand, and Legolas instinctively squeezed Hethulin's, and all the elves simultaneously drew breath.

"We have done what we came for", Tinuhen said. "And we did it together. If Beren knew that, I think he would be proud."

It wasn't a very good speech, as speeches go. It was not the most passionate either, to come from Tinuhen, because when Tinuhen spoke of etiquette he was very passionate indeed. But it was a speech that made the elves straighten their backs and look at each other and breath deeply again. It made them long for home, but it also made them feel as though home was not far away but there, in that room, in their hearts and in their linked hands.

And it made them feel that, though there were still many questions that lacked answers, and some things that would never truly come to an end, it was finally all over.

* * *

They buried Beren five days after New Years Eve under a bright winter sun. Lord Elrond was worried they would not be able to dig through the frozen ground, but it was all right, for the elves of Greenwood buried their dead under trees, and there was a maple near the House of Elrond who willingly took Beren under her roots. The wind pulled at their hair and their white breath mingled. The last they saw of Beren was his dark hair in the snow disappearing beneath the roots. Hethulin thanked the maple. Then they walked back to the House through the snowy woods, each in their own thoughts.

Later that day they had a funeral feast in the Hall of Fire. They ate and drank all that was left from the Midwinter and Yule and New Year festivities, and then they danced and sang, and Tinuhen walked out of the hall with Echail and a wine bottle because the wood-elves sang such rude things he could not stand it. In some ways Tinuhen had not changed, but that was probably just as well. Elladan and Elrohir decided the songs were not meant for Legolas' ears either, and Legolas was very tired anyway, so they walked outside into the cold night air and said goodnight to the horses in the stables. Marigold was so glad to see Legolas she tried to jump over her stall door when he could not reach her quickly enough. She stood beside Amlûg, who became a bit jealous when Legolas hugged Marigold first.

"You see, Amlûg", Legolas told him, "Marigold risker her life for me, and that's why I owe her a lot, but she's not mine, so don't be afraid that I'll forget about you."

Elrohir, who stood beside him, raised an eyebrow. "You call the horse Amlûg?"

Legolas grinned.

"That is the best name for a horse I ever heard", Elrohir said. "I wish I had a horse named _dragon_."

The following weeks passed like a blur. The House of Elrond was all of a sudden a very merry place, full of song and laughter, and with comfort and kindness to those who needed it. Spring came as spring does, slowly at first and then so fast that one forgot it had ever been winter. There was hardly any time to long for home. But when one day Hawn and Findel and some other rangers came down from the north and said that the snow had melted in the High Pass so that it would now be possible to cross the mountains and head east, Legolas was very glad indeed.

And so they left at last for home, taking farewell of the House of Elrond under an indecisive Mars sky. The courtyard was muddy, the birches had just burst into green, and no one knew whether to keep their cloaks on or not, because the sun was warm but the air was cold and the clouds came with rains that lasted for half a minute or so and then moved on.

"Come back soon", said lord Elrond when they rode off. "And tell the Elven King and Queen they are always welcome!"

"Practise your letters, and you will soon find there are a great many books other than Tales of Doriath that you can read", said Erestor.

"But do not forget to have fun", said Glorfindel. "And keep training with the bow!"

Echail didn't say anything until Legolas did.

"I hope you get to be a warrior one day, like you want to."

"I don't know about that", Echail replied and shrugged. "Maybe I am not meant to be a warrior. But Glorfindel says that even if one cannot fight, one can still train other fighters."

"Greenwood needs teachers."

"So I've heard." Echail looked up at Legolas where he sat on Amlûgs back and grinned. "Stay out of trouble now."

The twins rode with them for a while. When they came up high enough that they could see the House of Elrond again, Legolas looked back; Lindir and Ninneth stood on the courtyard waving, even though the others had went back inside. He waved back, then turned no more until they reached the highest point of the Pass and could see the West, now behind and below. It was a beautiful sight, and Legolas thought that he would like to see it again some day - but for now, his mind was on his home.

At the other side of the Pass they found their two carts. One was still whole, so they unloaded their pack horses so they could send them home with the twins and carried everything over to the cart instead. Legolas hugged both Elladan and Elrohir for a long time before he let them go, and though neither of them said much, they did not need to either. The twins gave him a slender dagger with a hilt made from the bone of a bear - for strength, they said, but also for gentleness, and for the love of sweets. It was a splendid gift.

Legolas wanted to ask them to promise not to be so sad, but he understood it was an impossible thing to promise. "I'm going to miss you", he said.

"We'll miss you too", Elladan said. "But we'll see each other again soon, no doubt."

"When?"

"I don't know yet. Just keep an eye out, won't you?"

"I will", Legolas said. The twins smiled at that, and then they mounted their horses again, took the ropes that bound the pack horses together, and turned back towards the West. Soon they were only silhouettes against the setting sun.

On the wood-elves rode, followed by the spring sun melting the snow in the mountains. There was no snow in the foothills or the Vale of Anduin when they reached it, and they raced each other in the tall new grass and gathered dandelion and nettle leaves to fill out the grain and dried meat they had got from Rivendell. They made nettle soup and nettle bread and when they crossed the river Anduin they caught enough fish to grill over the fire. They bathed in the river, which was full and eager with spring, and looked all the time towards the dark line of trees by the horizon.

On they rode, and Greenwood was dark and silent, the way they had left it. It seemed emptier now, and the Forest Road was crumbling and breaking as if the elves that had lived alongside it had somehow kept it whole and could not longer now that they were gone. Dark weeds grew between the cracked stones now, and in many places the road could no longer be seen. But though the Shadow had grown, they could not feel it as strongly as before. Legolas felt as though it wasn't really there. Maybe it was sleeping, or maybe it had its attention elsewhere. The elves kept their spirits up, and the trees were happy to have them there.

In the meadow with the three stones they met Ninniach and a couple of other elves - half from the shadow-wood, half from the Mountain. They had bows and short-swords, or slings and spears, and they were all clad in green and brown. Ninniach explained they were on patrol, which was how they planned to protect the forest.

"We make sure nothing gets too close to the Mountain", she said, "but we will also take care of trees and wildlife. We've been burning spider nets through the whole winter, but we haven't seen any for a while."

"I understood what you said about Greenwood", Legolas told her. "Why you didn't think lord Elrond could heal her. Because he can't, can he, but maybe we can, or at least we can do our best and fight it."

Ninniach smiled at him.

"You were right", Tinuhen said. "About everything."

She looked at him long, and her gaze was softer than usual. "No, my prince, not about everything. I was wrong about _you_."

On they rode, and as they came closer to the Mountain, the horses quickened their stride without the elves having to ask them to. It was afternoon when they left the shadow-wood, and Mars was ending. Birds and squirrels and deer and foxes came to greet them, and the trees sang in joy. The path seemed to bend and twist more than ever, as though Greenwood had laid it so so that the elves would stay with her longer before they went into the Mountain. And all of a sudden Legolas wished it would bend and twist forever. He wanted to come home, and yet he didn't - because the horrible thought struck him that maybe everything would be different, so different that he'd rather not know it.

He stiffened on Amlûg's back and Amlûg sensed his worry and tossed his head. Now he didn't want to get home either. And Tinuhen looked down on him and smiled, and there was sadness in his smile, and he put his hand lightly on Legolas' shoulder.

Maybe he felt the same. Legolas looked up at him and smiled back, faintly.

The stream lay before them, glittering in the sunlight, and the gates stood open. They rode over the bridge. They rode through the gates. The stables and smithy had finally got new thatching on the roofs, and the courtyard was covered in fresh straw. The stair had a new puddle below, from the spring rains.

It wasn't different, not at all. But it wasn't the same either.

Legolas climbed from Amlûg's back and stood, clutching at his mane, while the other elves ran up to their loved ones and hugged them. There was so much laughter and chatter and questioning that not a word could be distinguished and in all that noise Legolas felt detached from it all, as if he stood under shelter and watched a storm rage outside and didn't feel a single gust of wind. Mother and father stood on top of the stair. The steps weren't as tall as they had once been. He needed only walk up to meet them.

He couldn't. It wouldn't be the same. They weren't different - _he_ was.

Then father took his arm from mother's waist and walked down the stairs. His eyes were sad and happy at the same time, and a little tired, and there were tears in them - and it was then that Legolas remembered that father knew some of what had happened since he left. Together they had stood on that plain with the pools and the grass and the broken weapons, together they had faced that thing in the darkness, the figure of flames. It felt like long ago, but it had been real. Father remembered it, too. When he was almost at the bottom step, he bent down, so that Legolas didn't have to look up at him, and the memory of that dream-that-wasn't-a-dream was like a raw wound in his eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind Legolas' ear and it seemed he did not know if he should be happy or sad.

But then he smiled, and though it was a faint smile at first, it widened, and it reached his eyes and his shoulders and laughter rumbled in his chest, the loud, unchecked laughter that Legolas reminded from when he was very little. And father forgot he was a king, or maybe he didn't care. He pulled Legolas into an embrace that took the breath from both of them and lifted Legolas into the air and spun him around, and all the time he was laughing until tears spilled down his cheeks.

"My dear, dear child", father said, but then he held Legolas a little away and corrected himself. "No, not quite. A child you were when you left me, but you have grown."

"I had to."

"I know." Father smiled at him the way one might smile at the first rays of sun after a long winter, and Legolas truly felt that warm and big and brilliant. "Blessed be this day!" father said and spun around again, then set him down on the stair and put a hand on his shoulder and dried the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He didn't wear his old silver crown, Legolas noticed now, but one made of leaves and red berries.

Mother wore a similar one. It lay proudly on her dark hair when she knelt on the stair and wrapped her arms around Legolas, tightly. Her body felt hard at first, her chest tight with worry, and he felt a breath go out of it. Then it softened. A new breath filled it, warm and gentle.

"Truly", she said, softly so only Legolas could hear it, "this day you have blessed, Legolas, and it will be remembered."

Tinuhen had expected a formal greeting, and had stood with his hands behind his back waiting for the opportunity to say grand and noble things, but he grew tired of that after a while. He said: "For your information, esteemed parents, your other son is also standing here, and he also happens to have been absent for a long time. But I am sure that can wait to after dinner."

At that the Elven King and Queen fell silent, horrified, then began to apoligise; but Legolas said: "Don't worry, he's joking," and they laughed and realised with surprise that he was.

"Oh, Tinuhen!" mother said. "Come here, you don't get away, not after you said such a dreadful thing!" She embraced him, and Tinuhen buried his face in her thick hair and pretended he held her so tight only because _she_ wanted to, and Gwiwileth was the only one who felt how much his shoulders trembled.

"What a day to be alive", said Thranduil quietly to Legolas, before he went down the stair too. "Tinuhen told a joke."

There was a lot of hugging and kissing and laughing there on the courtyard, and Laeros' parents laughed and cried at the same time because they knew Laeros wasn't coming home but there were good news about him, that he was talking again, a few words at a time, and singing. There were so many people Legolas wanted to say hello to he could not remember them all. Cuguiel said the first thing the Kitchen Head had done when the traders arrived in Dale was to order chocolate, and Legolas said there was a special package of spices and herbs for her somewhere in their packs.

It wasn't until they moved into the Hall of Trees that Legolas caught sight of Merilin. She stood in the doorway, leaning on the post, with her arms casually folded and the long silk dress billowing about her legs. Her hair was braided as beautifully as ever, but there was something absent about her smile, as though she were deep in thought. There was something different about her too. She had always reminded Legolas of spring, fair and flighty, but now she felt like late summer when the leaves are dark and thunder comes down from the north with the first winds of autumn.

She looked at her brothers, and they looked at her, and nothing needed to be said. They simply took each others hands and walked, together, into the Hall of Trees, where the fire burnt and birds flew beneath the ceiling and elves chatted. Nothing was changed, Legolas thought, and yet all felt new.

The sun rose high over the Mountain in the Kingdom at the heart of the forest, deep in the Wild, far over the Misty Mountains.

* * *

When the Old One returned to his tower that spring he felt weary. His plans were in ruins. His servants had fled from him, and he dared not set out to find them when he was too close to the found himself. That was the worst of it all, that he had so nearly been discovered.

He called himself the Old One, because that was that was how he showed himself to all his spies and servants: a man old and frail in tattered robes, with eyes of steel and a voice that could take down mountains. They feared him, and they were right to. He was mightier than they would ever know. Mightier than anyone.

But weary.

When he came to the tower, his tower of tall black rock standing alone in a fair garden, he walked up the tall stairs and locked himself in the room on top and sat there for many hours like someone nearly drowned who needs time to catch him breath again before he can move on. His wrinkled old hands curled hard around the armrests. _Kill the messenger_ , he had said. They had killed the messenger, two swift arrows in his back, and the Old One had thought he could go back to his work in peace.

But he could not, for there were others meddling with his affairs; the Grey Wizard and the Brown Wizard, always meddling, always watching, always waiting for him to sway so that they could step down and take his place. They had forced the Old One to take more drastic measures, to send his spies and servants out and block the passes of the mountains so that none could pass through, none, none.

But they had, the elves had and the wizards had. The Old One had been afraid then. Already he had stretched too far and risked to be caught. How much more must he risk? How much more could he risk?

In the end he had to let go all his carefully calculated plans. Let the elven spy live, and the princes. He did so so that he himself would not be caught.

And he had not been caught.

When he thought of that he smiled at last, with relief and with scorn. He had not been caught; the fools that called themselves the Wise would never catch him. He was more cunning than they could imagine. Mightier than they could imagine.

The Old One stood up, and he was no longer weary. He must lay low for a time, not take any more risks. He would make new plans, gain new servants. Then, when the Wise had forgotten about him, when the Brown Wizard and the Grey Wizard had other things on their meddling minds, he would set to work again, and he would be even more secretive, even more cunning. And he would succeed. Who could stop him?

The Old One turned to the Stone that lay, ever watchful, under a piece of moth-eaten cloth on a pedestal in the centre of the room. _Saruman_ , the stone whispered. _Saruman..._

It was tempting, so tempting to look into it. The Stone could show him a great many things - but it would try to command his will, and he would have to fight it, and he would be exhausted. No, not now. He would leave the Stone for later. Tomorrow, perhaps, or tonight, or this afternoon, he would look into it. At least, he thought, and swept from the chamber, he would eat something first.

_Saruman_ , the stone whispered.

* * *

**FIN**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over, you guys. After almost one and a half year (mostly because I couldn't keep it *cough*), this story has come to an end. I'm amazed at how many of you have stayed with me from the beginning, and how many of you jumped on the wagon late and actually read the whole thing, and I'm overwhelmed by you favourites, following, and reviewing this story - I wouldn't have kept going without it, but I would have kept going with far less, and I could never have expected all of this. I'm so grateful for your patience and positivity and it's been so much fun to read your guesses at what might happen or angry outbursts at the cliffhangers (I'm sorry. But they were fun.) Really, it's been amazing.
> 
> I don't know when and if I'll next have a story on here; it'll probably be nothing near this big. I need time to work on my own original novel, and it won't be published anywhere on the internet. That doesn't mean I won't be around though! So until next time I just want to wish you all good luck in whatever you're doing, and thank you for sticking with me. Lots of love!
> 
> Oh, and - I haven't answered all questions about this story in order not to spoil it, but if you still want to know anything about the ending, ask away!
> 
> ~Siri

**Author's Note:**

> Any input to characters, pacing and such is greatly appreciated. English isn't my native language and in the end I didn't have the patience to find a beta, so please bear with me!  
> Thank you for reading u w u


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